#like I said I've been thinking about it ALL DAY

[theminecraftbee]

Grian sits on the edge of a desert cliff, watching the sunrise. His knuckles are bloody. He's had this dream before, and he's lived this moment before. He's awfully tired of it, honestly. He's not even particularly sad anymore. It's hard to be particularly sad, this long after, this much more between them.

But his knuckles are bloody again. There's someone sitting next to him.

"Joel?" he says, baffled.

"Yeah, hi, really weird bloody dreamscape you've got. Literally and figuratively: bloody hell. Like, Scott, he's got this pretty cottage and all these flowers and the single most terrifying version of Jimmy that I've seen in my life. Which serves him right, since he's a bastard, and I told him that. Or, uh, Pearl. She's normal. She's got dogs and... shit, I don't know--"

"Why are you here?" Grian asks.

"Oh, right, I was tasked with asking you if you regret it," Joel says.

There's a long moment of silence. The wind blows.

"I mean. No?" Grian says.

"Right? That's what I said! Blumin' stupid question, that!" Joel says.

"Wait, you mentioned--are you asking everyone that?" Grian asks.

"Yeah! It was all, oh, you've got a car, you can travel, it'll be all poetic like. You've had a 'character arc'--like I'm some, some fake guy--and grown as a person, everyone else has to, would they do things differently now? And I said, man, that's stupid. That's really stupid. But the glowing purple eyes guys--"

"Wait wait wait wait, the who?" Grian interrupts.

"Sorry, do you not know the glowing purple eyes guys? Martyn was acting like you're all buddies or something. Then I punched him. Because it was funny," Joel says.

"No, I know the--they asked you to do this?" Grian says. He takes a moment to try to imagine it. He has some trouble. Joel and the Watchers don't really belong in the same place at the same time for so many reasons that Grian doesn't know where to begin.

"Apparently, I'm not being serious enough," Joel informs Grian. "I kinda get it, actually. Like, everyone but Cleo has been somewhere like..."

Joel looks out over the cliff. It is tall, and Grian knows he cannot see the ground from the top. He had been able to during the actual games, of course, but these aren't the actual games; these are the memories of what brought him to victory, made manifest.

"So I guess I kinda wondered, since you lot always seem so blumin' sad about it," Joel finishes.

"I'm not really," Grian says.

Joel raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, maybe once, but--nah. Not really."

"Cool. That's the last one then," Joel says. "Hear that, weird glowing eyes guys? You act like I'm all weird or whatever but none of them regret it either. Not a single one of them."

Grian looks over the cliff again himself.

"None of us?" he asks, very quietly indeed.

Joel sighs. "All of you asked that too. I'm getting back in the bloody car."

Grian doesn't watch Joel leave. He rubs the blood off his knuckles and watches the sky instead. When he's tired thinking in circles about how he didn't really expect that he would be telling the truth, just then, he starts trying to imagine the trouble Joel might be giving everyone else instead. It's much more fun to think about than the sand that's getting in his socks. He's never able to get sand out of anything, these days, and it leaves him always just a little bit uncomfortable. Oh well; the price of being in a desert. He wouldn't be anywhere else if he had the choice, though, grit in his socks or not.

[russellsppttemplates]

Bridging the Gap (Lando Norris)

A look into the Norris family summer vacation

Note: english is not my first language. It's been some time since I posted one of these, hopefully I still know how to do it 🥲 A lot of changes have been going on at my job and I've been trying to adjust to all of it without loosing my sanity! For those who are here and have stayed, thank you for being so patient and for staying - I hope this is good enough ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm not taking requests right now, so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to send them in but know that I don't know when I'll be able to get to them!

my masterlist

Cw: reader is 4 years older than Lando, media scrutiny

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3 @sltwins

The low hum of the television filled the cozy apartment as you and Lando sat on the sofa, nestled comfortably under a soft blanket as his hands absentmindedly traced patterns on your thigh. Lately, it was one of your favorite pastimes - catching up on a show after a long week and simply enjoying each other's presence without having the world around you.

Life with Lando was unexpectedly delightful. His infectious laughter and zest for life were contagious, and even the most mundane days seemed brighter with him around, no matter how many clients you had that day or how much reading you had to do before their next sessions. At the beginning, you couldn't wrap your head around how the way your routines still laced together despite the seemingly different responsibilities, but you cherished the balance you shared.

"Do you have a busy day tomorrow?", your boyfriend asked.

"I have 8 clients, as two of them already cancelled because they're sick, but I managed to adjust the schedule and hopefully I have some time to go to the bank and see about my mortgage payments", you said.

"And in that rearranged schedule, is there a possibility of you spending the night here so we can wake up together before you go be a boss lady?", he wondered as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, softly kissing the skin there.

"I have to be in the office at before 10 am, Lan, I can't have a lie in", you reasoned.

"I have to be up at 7 am to go on a run with Jon, so neither can I", he smirked, knowing he had all the reasons to convince you to stay, "we can have some breakfast together before you leave me".

"I guess I have time to pop home, change and get to work on time", you reasoned, agreeing with his plans.

"I'm glad you think that because my next step was going to kidnap you for the night - I'm talking locking the doors and throwing away the keys", Lando spoke.

Your laughs rubbled as Lando squeezed you tighter against him, basking in the warm feeling on his chest of having you for the rest of the night.

.

A few weeks later, Lando told you Max and Pietra would be in Monaco for a week since they hadn't spent some time together in a while.

"Do you know how your week is going to be? In terms of your schedule I mean", Lando mused, holding your waist as you stirred the food in the pot.

"I had some people move around from their usual schedule, so the weekdays end late but I don't have many appointments on Friday and I have Saturday off", you spoke.

"That's good, means we can spend a nice long weekend together", Lando smiled, kissing your shoulder before resting his chin there, "I'm not sure of all the plans yet but it’ll be fun! And they’re eager to meet you", he grinned, optimism lighting up his face.

"I'm excited to meet them too", you spoke, despite the one looming shadow. The thought of meeting Lando’s close-knit circle always brought a tinge of anxiety with it. His friends were used to seeing him as the carefree poster child of single life - never missing a party or the chance to get a little drunk. Hell, the idea that Lando would rather stay in on a Friday night, watching his girlfriend cook them dinner after spending the afternoon waiting for her to finish her online sessions would baffle Max and all of his friends.

And though Lando never seemed to mind, the idea of them questioning your relationship because of your age gnawed at your insecurity. Even when you were younger, the party scene wasn't your thing and as the years passed, it certainly didn't become it. You were fine with Lando enjoying himself whenever he wanted to and never once objected to that, but feared that his friends would question it.

"There's something on your mind, I can tell that", Lando spoke softly, "would you like to share it with me?".

"It's just...", you tried, knowing he would be able to tell you were lying and knowing that sharing this with him could ease your fears.

"Doesn't have to sound pretty or polished, I just want to know what is on your head", he encouraged softly.

"Maybe they won't want to spend time with me? They're coming here to see you and spend time with you, and there's always the possibility that they might now want to spend time with me", you let it out.

"Why do you think that?", he continued softly.

"Because I'm not hard-core, adrenaline seeking fun!", you added.

"Lovie, the plans we have are just enough fun for everyone, I didn't to do anything too hard-core and they don't either, so we'll be good and have plenty of fun together, yeah?", Lando assured, turning you around and kissing your forehead.

"You are starting to have a way with words", you mumbled, enjoying the feeling of his lips on your skin in such a protective manner, like no harm in the world could get to you if he was near.

"I catch on a thing or two you say", your boyfriend mumbled, kissing your lips slowly.

"I have to take my lunch to the office tomorrow, I don't have time to come home", you mumbled more to yourself than anything, taking a tupperware box from the cupboards so you wouldn't end up without your packed lunch.

"Pack two of them and I'll meet you in the office", Lando said like it was nothing.

"Sorry, what?", you asked again, afraid you had misheard him.

"You can pack two of them to go and I'll meet you for lunch tomorrow so you don't eat lunch all alone", Lando suggested.

"You don't have to", you reasoned.

"I know I don't, but I want to", Lando smiled, "the next couple of days are going to be busy for me and I need to fill up on time with you so my heart won't miss you as much".

He was ever the charmer and you still blushed at his words, not used to this no matter how many times he did it.

"Fine, but you can't mess up the crayons this time! You left one of them on the floor and I saw my life flash before my eyes when I stepped on it and nearly fell! No funny business in my office!", you joked.

"Does that mean we can't play Jenga and talk about my feelings? How dare you do that to me, woman?", Lando dramatised.

.

The first night of the week Max and Pietra would be spending in Monaco arrived quickly, and while the full day of sessions certainly kept your mind away from all of it, you found yourself at the door of your boyfriend's apartment waiting for him to get it.

"Hello, beautiful", Lando greeted as soon as he saw you, kissing your lips before letting you in, "let me take these", he said as he grabbed your bag and your coat.

"Thank you, I'm sorry I'm a bit late but the last session ran a bit longer than I expexted", you apologised, smoothing over your jeans and checking how you looked in the mirror - after the day you had, you couldn't expect much but you were pleasantly surprised that your hair was still bouncy and forgoing makeup was probably a good idea because you would have smudged it by now.

"You look beautiful as always, Y/N", Lando grabbed your attention, "and don't worry, take out is late too so you don't need to feel bad", he assured, guiding you with him to the living room where the noise was coming from.

"Guys, this is Y/N", Lando announced as they both welcomed you warmly, quickly asking you questions and letting you join in, preparing a drink for you.

"I'm usually heavy handed, but this one is proper, Y/N", he offered you before you took a sip, "I can fix a different one though!".

"It's good, it's good - hits the spot very nicely", you smiled, taking another sip before engaging in conversation.

When the food arrived, Lando asked you to join him in the kitchen to help him plate everything up and bring it to the dining table, opting to use the door closest to it so it would be easier.

As you crossed rhe hallway, you overheard Max and Pietra talking.

“Do you think it works?”, Pietra asked, “I mean, they seem happy, but Lando’s… well, Lando".

Max shrugged, “He’s crazy about her. Age doesn’t matter, does it? But yeah, never thought he’d settle, at least not like this".

You felt a small knot form in your stomach, but before you could dwell on it, Lando appeared at your side, his familiar warmth instantly reassuring as he placed his hand on the small of your back, “You alright?” he asked, noticing the brief flicker of uncertainty in your eyes.

“Yeah", you smiled, deciding in that moment that the security you had together was worth navigating any doubts from others.

As the evening continued, you noticed Max and P exchanging skeptical glances across the table - they're were known for their protective nature over Lando, Max is his bestfriend, so they are particularly wary of anyone close to their beloved friend.

Over the clinking of silverware and hum of conversations, Max finally spoke up, his tone casual but inquisitive, "so, how’s it really going, being with a guy who practically lives on a racetrack?”.

You felt Lando's reassuring nudge beneath the table, prompting you to respond with honesty, "It's definitely something else. Racing is such a demanding world, but we find balance by making time for each other away from it all. So far, it has worked out well".

P leaned back, observing the dynamic between the you, "there must be a lot of pressure, especially with so many eyes watching your every move".

Lando chimed in before you could respond, "Y/N handles it like a champ. Honestly, she’s the calm in my storm", he said, his eyes filled with admiration for you. There wasn't a day that you didn't handle it gracefully, whether it was a fan wanting to take a photo or a reporter wanting to know more than you allowed.

Max and P exchanged another look, this time softer and less guarded - little by little, they began to see what Lando meant by his earlier assurance that you kept him grounded.

As dinner progressed, the conversation turned to shared stories, with Lando guiding the discussion to include moments from your relationship - your mutual love for travel, how you introduced him to the joy of quiet moments, and even shared a humorous tale of your early dates, laughter erupting when he recounted an incident involving mistaking your office with the one next to yours, Lando accidentally entering the lawyer's waiting room with a massive bouquet of flowers and passes to golf.

Max's initial skepticism gradually melted away as he watched you interact. Lando's attentiveness was unmistakable - how he would lean in to catch your words over the din of conversations, or how his eyes crinkled in genuine amusement at your stories. He noticed how effortless and natural your connection seemed, a seamless blend of companionship and partnership.

By the time dessert came around, Pietra seemed convinced, "Alright, alright. I can see what everyone’s been talking about. You both really seem to understand each other in a way that's rare".

"You say that like we don't!", Max complained.

"Shut it, Max, you know what I mean", she mumbled.

Feeling the warmth of acceptance flood the room, Lando laid his hand over yours on the table, grinning with relief and contentment, "Told you she was amazing,” he said, playfully raising his eyebrows.

Max chuckled, raising his glass, "Okay, I admit defeat, I'm not sure we are like this!".

It was in that moment that you realized, the whispers of doubt that had once lingered were no match for the clarity of Lando’s affection. Together, you were creating a narrative all your own, one that defied stereotypes and embraced your unique bond.

.

As the days passed after the gathering, the glow of being surrounded by Lando’s friends began to fade, replaced by the nagging unease that had settled in your mind. You found yourself replaying the conversations from that night, the laughter, the glances, and especially Max's comment, which you still couldn’t quite shake off despite the way the night ended.

One evening, after a long day at work, filled with sessions and schedule arrangements thanks to the flu season, you sat on the sofa, scrolling through social media.

Your heart sank as you stumbled upon a headline featuring Lando. The article speculated about his relationships and how he was often deemed the ultimate bachelor, writing that they believed he wasn't about to change his ways. The more you read, the harder it became to ignore your worries.

Later that night, Lando arrived from his photoshoot, his laughter echoing as he stepped through you door. He instantly brightened the room with his presence, but you struggled to muster so much as a smile.

“Hey! Long day?”, he asked, tilting his head slightly, concern etched across his features as he took a good look at you.

“Just tired", you replied with a half truth. As you settled down, you felt the weight of the unspoken words pressing on your chest, knowing that sooner or later they would find their way out.

“Is everything okay?”, Lando probed, sensing the shift in your mood. Even when you had a bad day, the reception he got wasn't like this.

You hesitated, your thoughts swirling, Do you ever think about what people say… about us?”.

Lando paused, confusion washing over his face, "What do you mean?”.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, looking down, "Like, the way the media talks about you. Or how your friends might see us. What if they don’t accept me? They might think I’m not right for you… for your image".

Lando’s expression shifted from confusion to concern, “Why would you think that?”.

“Because it’s true!”, you almost spat, frustration bubbling to the surface, "You’re this young, popular and successful Formula One driver, and I’m just… well, me. What if they think I’m just an older woman trying to latch onto your fame? What if they don’t see how happy we are?”.

“Stop it", he said gently, but firmly, “you’re not ‘just’ anything, or someone. You’re incredible, and I’m with you because I want to be. Age is just a number and it doesn’t define how meaningful our relationship is, not to me and it shouldn't be to anyone".

But your doubts resurfaced, relentless as you continued with your voice rising with each word, “But what if your family doesn’t feel the same? What if they think I’m not good enough for their sweet boy? I just… I can't help but overthink it. I love you, and I’m terrified of losing you".

Lando stepped closer, taking your hands in his and grounding you with his touch, something you explained to him early on that worked wonders for you, “I can’t control what others think, but my family will see how happy you make me. They care about my happiness, not just some number or date".

“But what if they don’t?”, you whispered, your voice trembling. Over the years, you could remember the times where you told patients exactly that, that their mind was looking for survival so that's where it took them.

“They will!", Lando stated, his grip tightening slightly, “Look, it’s not going to be like this forever. People talk, and yes, media can be ruthless, but what matters is how we feel about each other. And I feel lucky to have you in my life. Please trust that, my love".

You looked for reassurance in his eyes as slowly his words began to soothe the turmoil, but the fear was still there, lurking just beneath the surface.

“I just don’t want to complicate things for you", you said softly.

Lando brushed his fingers against your cheek, a gentle smile breaking through your anxiety, "you’re not complicating things. You’re adding to my life in a way I never knew I needed. Can we just take this one step at a time together?”.

Lando pulled you into a warm embrace, and for a moment, the weight on your heart lightened. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself to stay in the moment and be there.

“I’ll try", you finally spoke against his shoulder, feeling comfort in his unwavering support.

“I promise I'm not going anywhere", he whispered back, wrapping you tighter in his arms, "we’re in this together".

"Thank you", you mumbled, pecking his lips softly.

"You don't ever need to thank me, not for stuff like this or anything else, we're in this together, lovie", Lando kissed your forehead, "besides, if you ever dump me, I'll have to find a good psychologist to help me through it and you're the best one, so that's another valid point for us to stay together", he chuckled, wanting to get a giggle out of you.

Smiling when he succeeded, Lando squeezed you tighter against him, "never doubt that we were meant to be, Y/N, never".

[technofeudalism]

i've got one more wall of text in me for today. i'm sorry, but hopefully this helps more people than it annoys.

i understand the concerns people have about social media being captured to technofascist oligarchs and i share them.

however, and you can call me a boomer for this if you'd like, i am way more worried about the fact that we are watching a scarier replay of the 2016 hyper-normalization of Donald Trump already being carried out in mainstream/establishment news outlets.

Some political operatives on the right, who saw mainstream media coverage of Trump’s first term as overly hostile, say the way the press covered Trump’s first term unwittingly did him a favor.   “I do expect that the media coverage will be a little different in tone,” one national Republican strategist told The Hill this week. “Not because the media is all of a sudden planning on being more objective and less biased, but because they probably finally recognize that their over-the-top hysterical coverage has done nothing but help Trump politically.”  

there are many reason this freaks me out worse, but i can sum up a couple of them.

the rhetoric this time is a magnitude more insane and suddenly alarmingly expansionist. logic would suggest this would justify an even more critical evaluation from the media that they are seemingly neglecting to provide.

the public, thanks to total dereliction of duty by the Democrats, are far more geared up for fascist shit than ever, but are totally ignorant to how this is going to happen (concentration camps)

speaking of the Democratic party: following a series of humiliating, high profile L's, the party finds themselves leaderless and less popular than they've been in 30 years at the worst time. when asked to name the leader of the Democratic Party, 49% of registered voters couldn’t name a person or said “nobody.”

before i continue, i know that there has been a dramatic decrease in people who get their news from traditional media and instead rely on social media, podcasts and the like. that makes sense. people aren't watching cable news anymore, chiefly because fewer and fewer people under the age of 30 even have cable TV and they definitely aren't paying for a New York Times subscription.

but what people fail to consider is that the "news" people consume via social media is often rehashed or half-baked, word of mouth versions of reporting conducted by the mainstream media or the journalists who work for them. there are still journalists working for these publications who take advantage of the increased exposure podcasts provide and go on them to talk about their writing.

people hear the same stories at the end of the day, but the way the issue is initially framed when the story first "breaks" and how it is approached by other outlets who follow up on it is significant. it's a lot less work to have to clean up and suppress news on your platform when the news is already favorable to your cause.

think along the lines of a massive disinformation campaign emerging from one outlet, social media being thrown into a complete frenzy and the only journalist who knows the truth from another outlet hesitating to speak out because of threats from his publisher to keep outrage revenue high or, perhaps more ominously, to directly serve the interest of the fascists in charge.

the US media has always been servile to whims of corporate interests because... well... they are owned by the corporate interests.

but up until today, i was holding out some sliver of hope that even if the NYT, for example, wasn't taking up antifascist actions, they would hold onto a tiny bit of reliability as a further watered down version of itself. an increasingly rare, delicate weapon against misinformation on social media, as opposed to being another tool wielded by fascists on aforementioned social media to grow legitimacy and manufacture consent.

then i saw this. my feeling is now that if the New York Times can't even write a headline - with THAT photograph underneath it - that says in plain English "Elon Musk Makes Nazi Salute Twice at Trump Inauguration," then there is going to be a frightening decrease in quality journalism being funded by mainstream outlets coming.

if you are not sure what to do and you want to be well informed, i have two suggestions. the first and most important, most difficult one that is a skill hard to master, is to develop decent media literacy and an ability to derive context from history.

the second is to build a network of trustworthy local, national and global sources that you can count on. ideally, they would be completely independent and free from editorial oversight or corporate control.

here are some of my recommendations. all of them are flawed. never rely on one source. do not immediately accept something as the truth from any single source. everyone is capable of accidentally getting a detail wrong, or even deliberately misleading.

Dropsite News - ran by Ryan Grim, Jeremy Scahill

The Intercept - sadly running out of money, alleged CIA ties

Democracy Now! - more center-left, better domestically

Jacobin - wide variety, sometimes shitty takes, Alex Press is great

The Grayzone - this one is controversial (mainly just to liberals) and they make no qualms about being committed to reporting from an anti-imperialist view of the world

Black Agenda Report - perspective from Black leftists. founded by Glen Ford (RIP), a Black Panther and accomplished investigative journalist

Hasan Piker - hate him, love him, neutral, doesn't matter. he's the largest independent political commentator on the left (by far), covering news and misinformation 9 hours a day. you can think he has shit takes, but he's still a reliable source and has been insanely accurate with his opinions

The Majority Report - been around forever, Sam Seder & Emma Vigeland are amazing, once home to the incredible Michael Jamal Brooks (RIP)

Breakthrough News

Labor Notes

Ben Norton @ Global Political Economy

Caitlin Johnstone (AUS)

these are just what i could come up with but there are many more if you do a little bit of digging using these as a baseline. just remember that the source ultimately is irrelevant and will have it's own biases. it is up to you to separate fact and fiction.

[nkogneatho]

you would be lying if you said you weren't intimidated to meet the gojo clan head but you needed the money and babysitting his grandkids was the only job offer you had managed to land. you'd heard about him a lot. clan head yuuta was old enough to be your granfather. of course you were scared and just wanted to get over with this interview without having the urge to kill the man in front of you. old geezers are scary. and they are annoying, ugly—oh

oh.

but yuuta wasn't. he was scary, sure. the first thing that caught your eye was the dark eyebags. on anyone else, it would look ugly but on him? it had you bewitched.

"please have a sit." fuuuuuuck. he was so soft spoken even if he had some ruggedness to his voice. contrary to the old geezers you've dealt with. you don't speak, just nod and take a seat on the zabuton opposite to him. "was it hard to find the place?"

"uhm...no. you have the whole estate so..." you say meekly. he chuckles. it's low but it's endearing.

"i see. well, as my assistant told you on the phone, wife's not in the picture. i lost my son and daughter-in-law to the missions, leaving my two grandkids behind—"

"i am so sorry for your loss," you interrupt, sympathizing with him. although you've heard it on the phone before, hearing him say it hurts. you cannot imagine what he's going through. he shoots a warm smile your way, accepting your condolences.

"although i do know how to raise kids, think i've lost my touch after all these years. plus the clan head responsibilities take too much time off my day. i need someone to not only look after them but make them feel like they have a normal childhood just like everyone else."

"i understand. losing parents at such an early age, when they can't even form proper sentence, is cruel." yuuta has a hint that whatever you just said might have been coming from a place of personal experience but he chooses not to bring it up. the atmosphere is suddenly very gloomy so he decides to change the subject.

"anyways. as you know, i am an old man now. it's hard to remember things or do things on my own so you're basically babysitting me too." he knows it's lame. but he watches your expression. you're clearly flushed. of course, i am. have you ever seen a mirror?

"yes, sir." fuck. fuckfuckfuck. his cock stirred at the way you cooed that sir. he knows he should tell you that he is comfortable enough if you call him by his name but now that he's heard call you that? no way in hell he is going to correct you.

his cock kept twitching the whole interview. he knew he had to keep you. yes you had the right skils for the job but he's also willing to see what else you can do. how far can he push you.

yuuta gave you a warm smile, walking you to the exit, his yukata thankfully hiding his boner.

"congratulations. see you next week, sweetest."

[insidekatmind]

Silent Promises~Jonathan Daviss

It was a cool spring evening when Jonathan called you for the second time that week. His calls were always filled with laughter, jokes, and a familiarity that comforted you. But this time, something in his tone made you raise an eyebrow.

"Hey, how are you?" Jonathan asked, and his voice sounded more serious than usual.

"I'm good, thanks," you replied, trying to sound more convincing than you felt. "I just finished doing some interviews for the new album."

"I can imagine," he replied with a light laugh, but it sounded a bit tense. "You know, the song you wrote about Drew... it's really powerful. There's a lot of you in that one."

A shiver ran down your spine. Drew... The man you had loved, but who had betrayed you. Every word of the song Heartbreak Highway spoke of your pain, broken dreams, and the loneliness you had felt after discovering his betrayal. The public had loved it, of course. It had gone viral, like all your most honest songs.

"Yeah... it was hard to write," you admitted, feeling a lump in your throat. "But the best of me came out. I'm glad people can relate to it."

"I'm sure," he said softly. "You're incredible, as always." His voice grew more tender but also more serious. "Listen, I want to talk to you about something..."

A small suspicion crept into your mind. Jonathan had never been afraid to be direct with you. But something felt different today. It was as if he was avoiding telling you something important.

"Sure, tell me everything," you replied, trying to keep your tone normal.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and when Jonathan spoke again, his voice trembled just slightly. "I... I know you're hurting, and I care about you. You know I've always been there for you."

"I know," you said, almost whispering. "And you've always been my rock, Jonathan."

He hesitated again. "I just want you to know that you deserve someone who truly loves you. Not someone who betrays you. Not someone who makes you feel less than you are."

Your heart stopped for a moment. His words seemed so sincere, but there was something deeper, as if he wasn’t just talking about Drew.

"Jonathan..." you whispered, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. "I... I’m not ready for another relationship, not now. Not after what happened."

"I’m not talking about a relationship," he said gently, but with an incredible firmness that struck you. "I'm just saying, I’m here. Always."

You sank into the couch, feeling the weight of his words. You had known him for so long. You’d laughed together, cried together, shared dreams, fears, and hopes. But you had never seen Jonathan in this light. Every word he spoke seemed to carry something more, a feeling you couldn’t fully decipher.

"Jonathan..." you repeated, his name sounded different on your tongue. "I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to think that I’m ignoring how you feel about me."

"I don’t want you to feel obligated," he said quickly, almost in a whisper. "I don’t want to put pressure on you. I just... I just want you to know that I care about you, in a way that goes beyond friendship. I’ve loved you, always."

The world seemed to stop for a moment. Jonathan... loved you? How had you never noticed it before? But at the same time, how could you respond to this revelation when your heart was still broken over Drew?

"Jonathan, I... I don’t know what to say." Your voice trembled, but not out of fear. Out of confusion, out of surprise. "I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want you to be like Drew... like someone who deceived me."

"You know I’m not like that," he replied, his voice full of sincerity you had never heard before. "And I understand, really. But I just want you to know that, no matter what happens, I’ll always be here. I don’t just want to be your best friend. I want to be something more, if one day you want it."

Silence fell heavily between you, and as his words echoed in your head, your heart hammered in your chest. You were lost. Lost in a sea of emotions you didn’t know how to manage.

"Jonathan..." you repeated finally, trying to find the strength to say something you never thought you’d say. "Maybe, in another time, in another life, we could have been more. But right now... I need time."

He nodded, even though you couldn’t see it. "I understand. And I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you, if you’re ever ready."

The call ended there, but that silent promise lingered between you. A promise of time, of hope, of a future that would come, or maybe not. But one thing was certain: Jonathan would never just be a friend to you. Something inside you was changing, and maybe, one day, you would look at him with different eyes.

And in the meantime, your song continued to play on the radio, an anthem of heartbreak and rebirth, while Jonathan, from afar, watched you with silent hope.

[logans-whore]

Hi~

I was reading your old man logan one-shot and mwah chief kiss

Can I ask for some more old man logan and young reader?maybe he's unsure of whether he should give into his desire or keep pushing her away but when he saw her laughing at her phone or talking to a boy friend of hers he loses it?

Or anything like that love yaa

I swear I'm working on my other requests, but holy hell, this caught hold of my brain like a dog with a chew toy and it didnt let go. This can be read as a prequel to this fic, but can be read as a standalone too! Also this turned out way fluffier than I thought it would, but oh well. I hope you like it!!!

https://www.tumblr.com/logans-whore/773031900713451520/may-i-please-ask-you-to-write-something-for-old?source=share

Logan is fully aware that he's too old for you. He's too aware, if you're the one being asked.

The two of you were the only ones to survive the Westchester incident, him because of his healing, you because you hadn't been at the mansion on the day of the incident.

So you, him, and Charles move in together, hiding away. Later, Caliban joins you.

Now, you've had a thing for him for years. But seeing him there, caring for you, for Charles, being protective, and providing? Yeah, that scratches the lizard part of your brain just right.

And he notices, sees the way you look at him like he's the only thing you'll ever want. And he turns you down, over and over again, keeping you away. He's way too old for you, and starting to look it too. You deserve someone young. Someone good, and kind, and caring and perfect, like you.

And you're not the kind of girl to push it. To force a relationship with someone who doesn't want you. (Or so you think. He wants you. Very much. He's just an idiot)

So you put yourself out there. You've been working as a waitress to help pay the bills. And a customer gives you his number, and he's sweet and funny and cute, and you say yes. Thinking this is your chance to get over Logan, to move on, find someone new to love. You start texting him, and he seems great. You really like him, and you think, with time, with patience, maybe you could grow to love him. Not the all encompassing, full body experience that loving Logan is, but maybe a simpler, less painful love.

Logan on the other hand, sees you texting. All the damn time. After several pointed remarks on phones, and how young people should get off them and have a conversation, he finally asks who you're texting.

When you tell him about Adam, the cute guy from the diner, his heart drops. He's grown to love you, to love your kindness, your compassion, the way you look at him, how absolutely fucking stunning you are. And thinking about you with anyone else? Hell no. You're his. Not that you belong to him, but you're his, and he's yours, the way only people in love are each others.

And he can't lose you, he realizes with startling clarity. He just can't.

So the next morning, as you make breakfast, about to start your shift, he slinks iinto the kitchen, looks you dead in the eyes and says. "I love you."

You nearly drop the spatula you're using, choking on your own spit. "W-what?" you sputter, surprised and confused.

"I love you" he says again. You look at him for any sign of him joking, of him playing some fucked up prank. You find none.

"I'm sorry I didn't say it before", he continues, like he hasn't just dropped the emotional equivalent of an atomic bomb on you. "I'm sorry. But I love you, honey. And I don't want to see you with anyone else but me. I know-" he hesitates, but continues. "I know I said I'm too old for you. Know I said you should find someone your own age. But I'm taking it back. And I'm asking you, not to fall in love with him. I want you in love with me."

You stare at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "You- you're serious?"

"I just gave you the cheesiest goddamn speech I've ever given in my life, of course I'm fuckin' serious" He grumbles, and you can't help but laugh, before crossing the distance to stand in front of him and kissing him stupid

"I love you too," You murmur against his mouth, and feel him beam against you, smiling into the kiss. "I'm not gonna fall for him. I'm already in too deep with you"

Hours later, when he's fucking you into the mattress, you cry his name over and over again, and he knows, warm and safe in your arms, in your heart, that you mean it. That you're his, and he's yours.

Logan is full aware that he's too old for you. He loves you anyways.

[waynes-multiverse]

Eeeeek, I'm bursting with excitement! I wanna know so badly what happens next. I've been hurrying to get the kid to bed to read this 😂😂

You follow his lead with your own rifle, falling into step with him through the forest clearing. It’s a beautiful day in late November. Already you can see the edge of frost on the shrubs and half-barren trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves painted in browns, oranges, and dappled with reds.

I love this description btw Really painted a picture in my head 😍👏

You snort. “Right. Think I’ll just leave you for the bears…”

Ouch. That line probably haunted her afterward 😂🙈 (but I loved their banter! You can totally see they have a close and loving relationship 💕) And her dad's optimism and "fate" was so adorable ☺️

You don’t see the elk, and soon enough, you don’t see your dad either. You do hear a whistling on the wind, and the cold of it cuts right through your coat.

Goosebumps... 👀

Dean continues to listen intently with his brows furrowed.

Ah, our boy entered work mode 🤓

Dean has packed up his supplies and put on his winter gear. You watch him from the living room sofa, trying to hide your unease. You know he’s doing this for you, but there’s part of you that doesn’t want to see him leave, for his own sake, and selfishly for yours.

Oh God 🙈 No, I can't watch him leave alone. At least get Sam!!! Oh God, no, no, no, no... 🫣

I also realized in that moment why my readers are usually "from the same foxhole" because this is exactly what I can't do. Freaks me the fuck out and gives me so much anxiety. Like, I have to be there 😂 I don't know how you do it. Bravo, friend 😅👏

“You shouldn’t be going out there alone,” you say.

Nooo, but you shouldn't follow him either... With the broken ankle 👀

“If I’m not back inside a week, you need to ration out the supplies here as best you can. That new meat in the fridge should last you a while.”

A week?!?!?! *gasps*

By new meat, you have to assume he means the bear.

Ooooh, btw, super interesting what you said about the bear meat! I figured something like this. They did wear bear fur, right? And I know people back then never wasted anything, so makes sense they'd eat the meat, too 😄

Right now, you don’t really give a shit about what he’d rather, but you don’t say so.

I cackled 😂 Love her feistiness!

After the first three days, you’ve managed to clean the entire cabin, top to bottom.

Oh God! I'd die worrying... 🙈🤣

On Day Four, you create a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor.

Aww 😭😭 Poor thing... 😢 (Loved how she explained not taking his room. While invasive, I think if Dean came back to this in his room, he would've melted 🫠🫶)

Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open.

THANK FUCKING GOD!!!!!

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. “Believe me, I am.”

I knew it was a long shot, especially when her father wasn't with Dean, but still breaks my heart for her 💔😢

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, collecting your tears there. You glance down at his plush lips again, your own parting with a breath. His hand moves to cup your cheek, framing the side of your face. Please… He finally drags you to him in a kiss.

The anxiety is long forgotten. All is forgiven... *sighs dreamily* 😍😍

“Sorry…we can’t do this,” he says, with difficulty. He sits upright and nearly makes you fall over in the process.

Oh no, you come back here, young man!!!

It wouldn't be Dean, though, without the "you can't date me, I'm dangerous and not good enough" freak out 😂

“I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

Legit crying right now 😭😭😭 This is exactly why we always want what's best for him in fanfics. He deserves it so much 🥺

Or at least, it’s heat of a different kind, as his strong hands once again find your waist. They hold you still, but also hold you to him.

Love that little detail. Makes such a huge difference ❤️

Oooooh, I so can't wait to read the finale now! This is absolutely amazing, Alex! It's got the right amount of angst and heartbreak, only to haul me back into this sweet cabin romanticism 😍🤍🤍🤍

Against the Wind - Part 3

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Merry Christmas! I'm dropping this chapter a day early for you guys. Now, here's the full story, and what Dean is going to do about it…

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of blood, hint of spice.~

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 3: Nothing Left to Burn

“We should start heading back,” you say, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. It was starting to dip toward the top of the trees in the distance. “It’s going to take a couple of hours to get back before nightfall.”

“Yep, it’s about that time.” Your dad groans as he starts to haul himself back to his feet, where you two had been taking a rest against a tree. “Jesus, I need a new pair of knees. Help your old man, would ya?”

You smirk as you help the middle-aged alpha to his feet. His joints pop and his back cracks as he stretches his arms high.

“Damn, Dad. You’re creakier than the trees,” you quip.

He tosses you a wry look. “Just you wait. In a few years, after wrangling a couple of pups, you’re gonna feel my pain.”

“A few years?” you laugh. “Did I miss the part where I actually met a decent guy, let alone one worth mating?”

“Oh, you’ll find him,” your dad nods, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Or he’ll find you, like your mother did with me.”

You follow his lead with your own rifle, falling into step with him through the forest clearing. It’s a beautiful day in late November. Already you can see the edge of frost on the shrubs and half-barren trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves painted in browns, oranges, and dappled with reds.

“You met her in college. It’s not like you guys defied fate,” you say.

“Yeah, but if she hadn’t walked into my psychology class by mistake, and stolen my latte at the campus café, maybe you wouldn’t be here,” he teases. 

You huff and roll your eyes. Yes, your parents are a walking cliché. And by far, your dad’s the bigger sap.

“I’m telling you. Sometimes, the universe does us a solid,” he says, reinforcing his point with a literal pointed finger your way. You push it away from your face in exasperation.

“You might wanna watch where you’re going,” you say, “before you roll your ankle on another pebble.”

“You kidding me?” he exclaims. “That thing was the size of my fist! You’re lucky I didn’t break an ankle. Make you carry me all the way back to the car.”

You snort. “Right. Think I’ll just leave you for the bears…”

You trail off when a sound reaches you and your father. The sound of leaves crunching in the underbrush, quick and light. Your father’s shoulders straighten with alertness, the alpha’s head cocking toward the sound.

“Maybe I spoke too soon about the bears,” you whisper. He shakes his head.

“Nah, too light. It’s probably an elk.” He tosses you a smile. “We’ll have one hell of a haul to bring home, plus a good story to tell your mom.”

Your mother, the vegan veterinarian?

“Yeah, because she loves elk meat.”

“Would you quit being a smartass for two minutes? You go a little west. I’ll see where it’s at,” he says.

He quietly wracks his rifle and steps away from the clearing, farther into the woods. You do what he says, veering west. You don’t see the elk, and soon enough, you don’t see your dad either. You do hear a whistling on the wind, and the cold of it cuts right through your coat.

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off.

“What? What is it?!” you yell.

He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

He moves further into the denser trees until you can no longer make him out. With a frustrated huff, you sprint down the hill and try to follow his tracks with your gun at the ready. On the wind, in the distance, you still hear his voice.

Until it cuts off abruptly, along with the terrible cracking of bone.

You gasp and halt in your steps. What the fuck was that?

Tears fill your eyes and blur your vision. Despite what you heard, you realize just how very alone you are in the clearing. Fear and adrenaline make your breath tremulous and shallow, but you can’t just give up. You search for a while longer, making yourself hoarse calling out to your father.

No matter what direction you take, you never find him.

“I ran back to town to get the rangers,” you say, brushing a couple of stray tears from your cheeks. You sniff, licking your lips and swallowing a hard lump of emotion in your throat.

Dean continues to listen intently with his brows furrowed.

“It was too late,” you sigh. “He disappeared. They explained it away, thought a grizzly bear got him, but I know it wasn’t a damn bear.” 

You shake your head as the tears come harder and faster, all over again. Dean’s jaw clenches in sympathy.

“No one believed me about what I heard, not even my mom,” you confess. Your mother had been too distraught to entertain “anything else.” No matter how strongly you’d felt about your suspicions, you understood that she just wanted to put your father’s death behind her after his funeral. Part of you had stopped believing yourself. 

A stronger part of you hadn’t been able to let it go, however. So you had to come back here and try to find any trace of your father. 

When you finally run out of words, you see the proverbial gears turning in Dean’s eyes. 

“What’re you thinking?” you hazard to ask. You can’t help but reach out and grab at his wrist. “Do you…do you believe me?”

Dean’s gaze softens a fraction. He lays his larger hand over yours.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. “I’m willing to bet on what took him too.”

He squeezes your hand before he lets you go and gets up from his seat. He soon returns with his father’s journal in hand. He reclaims his spot across from you, sitting close to your thigh on the end of the chaise. His gaze falls away from your face to the journal in hand, and he flips it open to a page he knows from memory. You suck in a subtle breath to steel yourself when he turns it toward you—to the very page that had given you nightmares the first night you read it. 

Wendigo. 

“Nasty son of a bitch,” he says. “It hibernates for decades at a time, but when it surfaces, it knows how to get through long winters like this. It takes a handful of people at a time, feeding on its victims slow.”

You feel sick at that, but still, his words elicit a sliver of hope.

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth.

“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?”

You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

“But there’s a chance,” you insist, with tears in your eyes. Dean holds your gaze for a moment, and he nods. He squeezes your knee this time, then shuts the journal with one hand as he moves to stand.

You follow him on your crutches over to the kitchen. He pulls out a drawer and retrieves a folded-up map. Tossing the journal on the kitchen counter, he opens up the map and lays it out flat next to the sink. It’s a map of the mountain, and the entire forest surrounding the mountain of Big Sky. Dean’s eyes flick up to yours.

“Where did it happen?”

Dean has packed up his supplies and put on his winter gear. You watch him from the living room sofa, trying to hide your unease. You know he’s doing this for you, but there’s part of you that doesn’t want to see him leave, for his own sake, and selfishly for yours.

“Try not to go outside again unless you absolutely friggin’ have to,” he warns. “And if you do, don’t go too far. Make sure you take a weapon, preferably a gun and a knife.”

“Dean, I know,” you reply. You get up and hover by the couch while he finishes lacing his snowshoes and hooks his backpack on. You’re unable to hide your concern.

“You shouldn’t be going out there alone,” you say. 

Dean tosses you a grin. It has the shade of how he was with you before the “journal” incident—self-assured, a hint teasing.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t exactly my first solo mission,” he says, though his devil-may-care attitude soon subsides into something more serious. “If I’m not back inside a week, you need to ration out the supplies here as best you can. That new meat in the fridge should last you a while.”

By new meat, you have to assume he means the bear.

“When you’re healed up, you can make your way down the mountain and back to town with that map I left for you. Kitchen counter,” he says.

Your frown worsens. You step closer to him with the pretense of closing and locking the front door for him after he leaves.

“Dean,” you say, stopping him at the door. He turns to look at you over his shoulder. You hesitate, fidgeting slightly, but you gain your courage.

“If you don’t come back, I’m going to find you,” you warn him.

Dean frowns. He turns to you fully and tilts his head as if to say, come again?

“No, you’re not, Omega. You understand me?”

His terseness doesn’t scare you anymore. You glare up at him, quite literally standing your ground.

“You didn’t leave me out there when you didn’t even know me. You think I’d do that to you?” you counter.

At that, Dean has to pause, tilting his head slightly. He almost smiles at your stubbornness, and just like that, his annoyance dissipates. It softens him, making him reach for your arm in an assuring squeeze.

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

Right now, you don’t really give a shit about what he’d rather, but you don’t say so. It’s written across your face anyway. Dean’s mouth tugs at a smile.

“All right, I’m out,” he says. “Save me some of Yogi in there.”

You huff, but you shut the door behind him after he steps out onto the porch, down the steps, and beyond. You move to the living room window and watch him get farther and farther away from the cabin. 

Despite the crackling fireplace, you begin to feel cold inside. 

After the first three days, you’ve managed to clean the entire cabin, top to bottom. With the “new meat,” you make a large batch of soup to last you throughout the week. You freeze a couple of servings for Dean.

For when he gets back. 

You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.

Then you organize all of the alpha’s books by author. You wash all the laundry you can find and fold everything neatly on his bed, and you put away the couple of sweaters you’ve borrowed from him into your own dresser. 

On Day Four, you create a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor. In your anxiety, it’s a reflex you can’t help. Your initial instinct was to nest in his room, but you thought that was too invasive of his privacy, so the living room was your next best option. At least his scent is still somewhat imbued into his favorite chair, and around his records. (You do steal another shirt of his to sleep with though.)

On Day 8, your worry becomes a living thing. You pace the living room and the kitchen on your crutches, probably wearing down the wooden ends of them while you debate what to do. Despite what Dean told you to do if he didn’t get back, you know you’re not just going to leave him out there. But the reality is, you have a problem of mobility.

With a frustrated huff, you decide to try setting your problem foot down normally. Your ankle hurts, a sharp pain shooting up your calf and nearly sending you to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasp, both in shock and aggravation.

You know this isn’t just a sprain. At best it could be a fracture, since no bone is protruding under the skin. It still means you shouldn’t go after him either. 

But you’ll have to try. 

After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket.

Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 

A yelp of surprise escapes you, though you soon realize that it’s Dean, looking worn down and ragged, but alive. 

“Home, sweet home,” he says wryly, but he looks relieved to see you too.

You help him sink down onto the chaise, where he stretches out with a groan. He tips his head back on the cushion. His jacket is torn in a few places. Blood has dried on his cheek, his neck, and near his hairline, and you worry about where else he might be hurt. 

You quickly go to the kitchen and pour a bowl of warm water and grab a hand towel. You bring it all back to Dean, where you set your supplies on the floor and sit down beside him on the cushion.

“Are you okay?” You try to calm down your racing heart (and the nauseous feeling in your stomach) as you help him work open his jacket, followed by his shirt. Discreetly, your eyes take in the expanse of his tanned skin and pebbling nipples exposed to the cool air, even with the fire roaring nearby.

“Yeah, just peachy,” he says. 

You smile a little. You take the towel, dampen it, and begin to clear the blood from his cheek, his neck, and the upper part of his torso—even his scuffed hands. Then you squeegee out the blood in the bowl and continue your task. Dean subtly watches you, his gaze a bit softer than usual.

He eventually looks you over with a frown as he takes in the way you’re dressed, and then the backpack by the door. 

“What, about to go for a little afternoon stroll?” His sarcasm turns to annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put until you can actually walk?”

Your mouth flattens into a line, but any anger you might’ve felt is waylaid by your relief. It brings tears to your eyes. 

“I thought something happened to you,” you say.

Dean hesitates. Your hand has stilled on his chest. He softens a little more, grasping your hand in his larger one. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “The job’s done.”

Your eyes widen. “You found the…thing? The wendigo?”

His mouth pulls at a cocky grin, tempered only by his tiredness, and the way he’s looking at you. “Sure did. Tried to take a chunk outta my ass, but a little aerosol deodorant and a lighter’s all you need to barbecue that ugly son of a bitch.”

You smile in amusement, but all too soon, it fades.

“Did you find my dad?” you ask.

Dean’s expression sobers as well.

“Yeah, I think so.” His face gentles. “Was he wearing a blue puffer jacket?”

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him. 

Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. “Believe me, I am.”

He holds you close, warm and secure. He allows you to stay there as long as you need, where you feel safe, even if this world has become a colder, darker place. 

After a few minutes longer, your intense sobs begin to subside. You don’t mean to, but you turn your nose into Dean’s neck, scenting him on reflex. It calms you down, but it has the unintended effect of arousing him. The alpha rumbles in pleasure. 

You blink in surprise and lean back enough to see his face. Dean’s lips press together as he looks down on you; he seems embarrassed, but you also see the heat reflected in his gaze, so intense in those forest greens. Your face begins to warm in a blush.

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, collecting your tears there. You glance down at his plush lips again, your own parting with a breath. His hand moves to cup your cheek, framing the side of your face. Please…

He finally drags you to him in a kiss. 

It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

You press a hand to the center of his chest, giving you leverage to rise up and slide your thigh over his legs. There you sink into his lap. Your breasts pillow against his chest when you lay on top of him, your elbows digging into the cushion on either side of his head. His hands move down your body, feeling down your sides, squeezing your hips, and then your ass. You hum into his mouth and roll your hips into his. Already you feel him hardening through his jeans.  

But somehow he breaks away from your kiss, even though your hands are still in his hair. 

“Sorry…we can’t do this,” he says, with difficulty.

He sits upright and nearly makes you fall over in the process. He grabs your arm before you tip over, but he keeps himself at arm’s length from you after you’re forced to slide off his lap, sitting on the end of the chaise instead. Your eyes glisten with hurt and confusion. 

“Why?” is all you can ask.

He doesn’t want to answer. 

“Dean?” you ask, inching towards him. He raises a hand to keep you at bay.

“Just…it’s not a good idea, okay?” he says, with the clenching of his jaw.

That cuts into you even more. Your heart pulses with pain.

“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”

You wipe a stray tear from your eye, but you respect the distance he’s put between you two.

“The second I met you, I knew what this was,” you say. “I think you know it too.”

Dean shakes his head. His face betrays his wariness, his desire, and his obstinance. 

“Look…even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

You shake your head in dismay. “I know that’s not true.”

“I’m not bullshitting,” he says. “Listen…I’ve never had much. And what I did have, I found a way to lose. I’ve let my people down. Just about everyone I’ve ever…”

You can’t help but reach out a hand for him, your heart hurting, but he leans away, pressing himself back against the seat. It cuts even deeper into you; now though, you wonder if it’s because he feels the same gut feeling you do when he’s this close—close enough to touch, but almost afraid of the burn.

“They’ve been hurt, almost always because of me.” His voice shakes imperceptibly, with a wry, humorless turn of his lips. “So take it from me, sweetheart. You’ll wanna steer clear.”  

“Dean,” you say. You expel a breath, digesting his words, while thinking of what you want to say.

“I’ve never not felt safe with you,” you confess. “Even when I screwed up and drove you crazy, I’m sure, I knew you’d never hurt me. The same way I know…”

You reach out a tentative hand to lay in the center of his chest, over his heart. Your thumb brushes the edge of his strange tattoo, over the dark ink in his skin. 

“You’re my mate. My one, true mate in this world,” you say, meeting his eyes. “And I want to know you.”

You see inner conflict in the depths of Dean’s eyes, dark green and troubled. You take a chance and lean in, brushing your cheek against his, nuzzling, laying a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Omega,” he warns, but the grit in his voice has little heat.

Or at least, it’s heat of a different kind, as his strong hands once again find your waist. They hold you still, but also hold you to him. Your gentle affection is making him ache, deep in the shadowy cavern of his chest. He’d never admit it, but loneliness had set in there, burrowed deep with a stronghold on his heart. Without knowing, you’ve been carving it out with those gentle hands. 

You now slide your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, warm palms on his skin. 

“Alpha, I want to know you,” you insist. Quiet, but steady, your voice is a mere brush of words near his ear, against his cheek. “Please.” 

Dean’s brows furrow as he briefly shuts his eyes tight. With your whispered plea, the brittle chain of his restraint finally snaps free. 

He cradles the back of your head and guides you back into a feverish kiss.

AN: Sorry to cut it off there lol, but the big (steamy) finale is coming up next week! Perhaps a little earlier than Friday. 😘

Next Time:

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return.

▶️ Keep reading: Part 4 (Finale!)

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Series Masterlist

Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist 

Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new story or chapter. 💜

Dean Winchester Tag List

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

@thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @deans-spinster-witch

@deans-baby-momma @sanscas @kaleldobrev @spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

@globetrotter28 @adoringanakin @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @iprobablyshipit91

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @pieandmonsters

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @chernayawidow @mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @mxltifxnd0m

@my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof @samslvrgirl @tortureddarkstar

@tmb510 @syrma-sensei @artemys-ackles @malindacath @mrsjenniferwinchester

@jc-winchester @charmed-asylum @fromcaintodean

[olderthannetfic]

The thing that really gets to me about the whole Neil Gaiman thing, is that when people say, "you shouldn't like his works anymore and it always kinda sucked anyway", is that it implies that, going forward, people should basically know or find out who the author is and what they have done in their life before they read or like any book. And that's just... that's no way to live.

The funny thing is, finding out an author whose work I enjoy is a terrible person and being judged by others for liking it has always been one of my major worries when it comes to books. I used never talk about any book I enjoyed or talk about any authors' writing I liked because I always thought, "Well I don't know anything about this author; they could turn out to be a horrible criminal for all I know. Maybe it's best I never mention enjoying this book/author to anyway. Just in case the author turns out to be a shitty person and people judge me for saying I liked their writing." And at one point (this was over 10 years ago now) I realized that's a level of compulsive thought and anxiety that wasn't serving me well. I started to be more open what stuff I had read and enjoyed and it took a lot of pressure off my mind. Unfortunately, Neil Gaiman happened to be the first author whose writing I decided I felt comfortable talking about liking.

I'm at a point in my life where I'm not upset by the fact that Neil Gaiman's works are a part of the reason I got over a psychological hurdle that had been holding me back. I'm still angry in a visceral sort of way and it's going to take a long time before I can look at his books and not feel that visceral anger. But I don't think I can pretend they didn't and don't mean anything to me. At the end of the day, what I got out of those books had nothing to do with Neil Gaiman the person - it was all to do with what the works meant to me personally. So it does bother me a bit when I see people judge and moralize the way I always feared people would in this situation.

There are probably people who are going to judge me anyway and tell me that they just can't trust me as a person because I've said that Neil Gaiman's writing still means something to me. And well, nothing I can do about that.

--

[eshithepetty]

So. It's been said before that Mob has this compulsive thing where he looks at his hand when he's thinking about his powers. But I've wanted for a While now to compile exactly when and how much he does this, so!! Here's exactly a post for that ^^

Starting with the very 1st episode of Season 1, here he looks at his hand while Reigen's spiel about him not using his powers to use against others plays in his head. At this point in the story, we don't really understand the full gravity of these words, and what they mean to Mob - really, they sound more like the obvious usual advice that a psychic mentor would give. But from Mob's percentage rising (tho most people won't know what the percentage means at this point in the story), as well as him generally sitting on this advice, we can tell that a nerve has been struck.

Then comes season 1 episode 3. This is technically the same exact shot, but I still decided to include it both because it's still technically a different instance, and also, because of the new information we learn in this episode, we can look at this shot with a different context. Namely, that we now know what Mob's percentage means, and that his powers are connected to his emotions, which is why he stifles both in fear of hurting people as Reigen warned him of. It turns from impersonal advice to a Very personal and real concern. Though the biggest reason for why he fears his powers is still unknown at this point... (though we are made aware of the other reason - fear of social ostracization).

Ough... here comes season 1 episode 5. The shot of him looking at his hand, the one that makes it abundantly clear exactly what he is imagining and thinking back to when he does this. He's remembering the literal blood on his hands... fuck me.

Then are these shots from the same episode. The hands are covered by a towel, so this one is less obvious, but by his sight line and the conversation that he just had with Ritsu - about the incident, and what he did to him - it's obvious that's where his eyes are set. And now compared to episode 3, we know exactly why he hates and fears his powers so much. Why he thinks these hands are dangerous...

Season 1 episode 10, another repeat shot - this time from the psychically induced flashback he suffers at the hands of Muto. I still think the 100% rejection scene is so underrated - imagine being forced to relive the most traumatic event of your life, especially considering he usually avoids thinking about it.. god, the way he just screams and sobs is so upsetting.. though I do wonder what exactly Muto saw when Mob reversed the illusion on him.

This one's from season 1 episode 11, and it's a lot more innocuous than the rest - he's just checking that his psychic powers indeed don't work in this cursed room. But it's still him looking at his hand and thinking about his powers, so I decided to include it. (though I will say, there is a fanfic opportunity somewhere in here about combining the fact that, apparently, there exist curses that can surpress psychic powers, and Mob's desire to do just that... maybe one day I will get to it)

Now we jump to season 2! Episode 3. God, this is still one of the most intriguing scenes of this show to me... here, along with the fear of potentially having to hurt his clients, Mob is thinking a lot of things - among them, for the first time considering not only that he can hurt innocent people with these hands, but also innocent spirits. And the fact that he had been exorcising spirits, essentially killing these beings that are as close to him as living humans are, for years... I just love this episode. And as one commenter on Youtube pointed out, in season 2 episode 1, he made a promise to himself to consider his feelings more - and his feelings are innately tied to his powers. Thus, opening his eyes to his feelings also made him open his mind to the ethics of how he is using his powers, and whether following Reigen along on all these jobs without thought is truly what he should be doing. This is a big part of why I fully support him deciding to not work for Reigen post-finale - he needs to figure out how he feels about his powers without using them as tools to get profit (well. Not so much profit for him, and there's certainly value he gained from this job besides that - such as being able to at least use and express his powers somewhat, along with the relationship he gained with Reigen - but point still stands. It's healthy for him to be able to think these things through without that). Plus, I personally like to imagine he grows more sympathetic to spirits as he grows up and isn't anymore too keen on him destroying them being his job. But ramble aside...

Here comes mogami arc! Season 2 episode 5. As the subtitles say, in contrast to all other times he's been agonising over being too powerful, here, he's regretful over not being strong enough (plus, I like how Mogami has basically redefined what strength means for Mob in this fabricated world. Where in the real one, strength for Mob means sticking it to your morals and being able to resolve things peacefully, here it's... kinda the opposite..). Also, what's interesting here is that he still looks to his hand here, despite having all his memories of his powers and the incident erased from his mind. I guess it's just that deep-seated...

Same episode. This one is kind of debatable, but he certainly looks like he's rising his hand to look at it. Thus, I'm including it. Plus, it has thematic relevance to the incident. As he is saying here, in this world, he truly hasn't done anything malicious or dangerous that could warrant people treating him as the enemy, yet here they are. I could imagine, that, somewhere in the back of his mind, he is feeling like he's forgetting something...

Season 2 episode 10. Here he just woke up and immediately whooped ass with his powers. Also more innocuous, he's just confused, but still looking at his hand, so. Here it remains.

Season 2 episode 12 - this one's also kind of a oddball, since for once, he's not really thinking about his powers, but rather Serizawa's, and what they reveal about the man's feelings- but I thought it was close enough at him looking at his hand. Besides, I think it's sweet that this is one of the first times he uses his powers to empathise, to connect with someone (we see him do so again while trying to take in Toichiro's powers, as well as in the Alien arc, notably), so I'm including it for its thematic relevance.

Now onto season 3 episode 1! There's a really good post explaining this one (as well as the ghost family scene instance) here, but to summarise, here, Mob is thinking back to his powers and instances of him hurting people - making mistakes - and how he never learns. Never changes. Not enough... just like with the 100% sadness scene, it's just so sad that he thinks this one instance of his powers getting the best of him has ruined him for life. That he can't afford to make mistakes... buddy, you're 14 years old. A child. Making mistakes is part of growing up, part of being human :( But I'm guesing he doesn't always see himself as fully human does he ...

And then. Season 3 episode 10. Ough... This is just all his worst fears becoming reality. He's hurt Hanazawa, again. He's hurting his loved ones, again. He's monstrous and dangerous, again... All these years of repression have just led him back to square one and below - to bloodied hands once more. But this was inevitable. He couldn't have continued looking at those hands and fearing them.. he needed to face himself. Look that trauma in the eyes. And say: that's not all I am. I did that, those hands are mine, I am capable of hurting, but it's not all I am. I am capable of changing.... and he does!! Reverting once doesn't erase all the good he has achieved and all the growth he has experienced. But fact remains, that before you heal the wound you heal the wound, you need to clean it first. And it will hurt... but he gets there. He gets there.

So to finish on a lighter note! The ending of season 3!! This one makes me so happy, because, as opposed to all these other scenes where he's looking to his hand with turmoil and anguish in his heart, here, it's the opposite! He's smiling!! He's confident!! He's becoming surer of himself every day!!! He no longer sees his powers as a curse!!!! It's a promise, that eventually, he manages to deal with all the trauma and achieve a happy ending. It's just his hand, and his hands can hold instead of harm. It's just so sweet. I love him and his character development so, so much.... <3

In conclusion: he looks at his hand a total of 14 times - 12, if we exclude repeat shots. And I just think it's fascinating, how we can follow his development throughout these instances. So I hope that this was interesting for you to read as well, and that you all have good days out there <3 Toodles :)

[captain-bubble-wrap]

I'm curious how do you think Quinn would handle a breakup? Maybe one where he's being broken up with?

Boy, was this one hard to write... 90% of this is based on my last breakup, so... it's pretty... painful. SO ENJOY my misery! (I gave you a better ending than I had IRL, so you're welcome for that at least.)

"I loved you, I really did."

"It doesn't have to be this way," Quinn begged. "I still love you, Y|N."

"But you don't show it, Quinn. I've been so alone for so long and I just can't put myself through this anymore." Tears had been streaming down your face for several minutes now, since this whole spiraling conversation had started, yet you never broke eye contact with him. You wanted him to know how much this was hurting you to say and just how long you had been carrying the weight of it all.

"I tried to tell myself it would pass. It was this excuse, and that excuse, but nothing ever changed. I just don't think you can handle a relationship and your career right now. I'm tired of lying to myself. I'm tired of acting like tomorrow will magically be better. It's never better."

"Y|N I'm sorry--"

"I'm sure you are, and so am I, but I can't do this anymore. I just can't."

Quinn said nothing, his eyes dropped from your face while he stood there looking completely lost.

"You always say I don't deserve to feel the way I do when I'm down, because you've caused me to feel that way, but that's as far as it goes. Nothing ever changes. It's the same stuff over and over."

"I know, that's on me," he choked out, throat tight with anxiety. "I never intended to hurt you. I didn't think things were as bad as they were. I didn't realize I was hurting you."

You just shook your head in disbelief at hearing him say he hadn't noticed what he was doing to you. "You know, maybe I just asked too much from you. Maybe I demanded too much and you had no choice but to push back. I just don't know."

Quinn's eyes flick back to you immediately, "You were never too much, and I meant that every time I told you -- every time I tried to reassure you. You have always been there for me."

"And what about you? Where were you when I needed you the most? Distant, closed off, out with the guys? Even when you were beside me, you weren't really there. I begged you to do stuff with me and you'd say sure, but something would always come up. It was like you wanted an excuse to be away from me. I understood in the beginning, but fuck! I wouldn't hear from you until the next day. 'Sorry, I fell asleep. I left my phone at the hotel.' How could I not be suspicious?"

"I never cheated on you!" Quinn cried out.

"But, Quinn, the goddamn panic attacks you caused me! That hurt me!" Your voice was so much louder now, straining to remain below a yell. He was a blur in your eyes, with the tears obstructing your vision. "I begged you for the smallest of things! Christ, I'd say, 'good night, I love', and it was like you'd just ignore what I said. You never said anything the next morning! You say you love me, but you're horrible at showing it."

Quinn's voice, on the other hand, was growing smaller each time he had to plead his case. "I never fell out of love with you, Y|N, it's just like we drifted apart. I love how you treat me. I just wasn't used to being treated that way. I'm sorry if it came off like I was pushing you away."

"It was months though, Quinn. Months of feeling like I was the third wheel or just another friend. I don't like feeling so alone in a relationship. It's horrible."

"I don't know what else to say, but I'm sorry. Can I do anything to make this better?"

You were biting your bottom lip so hard when you heard his half-assed apology you tasted blood shortly after. "No, I don't think so. Too much has happened. I never thought we'd come to this. I thought you were going to be the last guy I had to open up to; the last guy I'd have to explain my past to. I wanted you to be my last, Quinn."

"I know, and I'm sorry I hurt you like this. I just got too comfortable and never checked in with how you were feeling. It was selfish of me. I'm not proud of any of this."

"I'm sorry it had to be this way, too. Sorry I had to bring this up out of the blue, but I've just reached my breaking point one too many times."

Even through all of your anger and sadness, you wanted to walk over to him and give him one last hug, but you had to stand your ground or all of these revelations would be for nothing. Too many times before you had talked yourself out of telling him how you had felt, but there would be no going backwards now.

"I've got to put myself first for one," you finally brought yourself to say. "I'll get my stuff out of here while you're on the road."

"Y|N--," he mumbled, his eyes so sorrowful hearing you say your goodbyes, so finite and decided.

"I hope everything works out for you, Quinn. I really do. I hope you find the person that's right for you. Someone who can handle your life and schedule. Again, I'm sorry but that doesn't appear to be me."

That was it. You had said everything you had argued with yourself over for months, in a matter of minutes, and now you were leaving his apartment. You'd linger on your decision for a moment once the door closed behind you, but you had to force yourself to go forward though your heart was begging you to go back.

On the other side of the door, you wouldn't hear him finally break down; his cries unheard and his heart shattered.

You'd reach the parking garage and get in your car but you didn't leave immediately -- almost like you were wanting to see if Quinn was just behind you, but the elevator door never opened. It was for the best. What would you have done if he had? Run back over to him? Say you were sorry? It was best not to think about the what-ifs.

It would hit you, as you rolled onto the street, that the next time you returned it would be to get your things, and likely the last time you'd ever be at his apartment. That apartment held so many memories, both good and bad. It felt more like home than your own did.

You'd find yourself in a silent argument the whole drive home until one song, on your shuffled playlist, catches your ear. It was Venice Bitch, by Lana del Rey, a song you loved until, for the first time, you noticed how much it aligned with your emotions.

"Fresh out of fucks forever, trying to be stronger for you. Ice cream, ice queen... oh god, miss you on my lips. It's me, your little Venice bitch...on the stoop with the neighborhood kids, calling out bang-bang kiss-kiss...and as the summer fades away, nothing cold can stay...you're right, I told you we'd make it work, you're beautiful and I'm insane...we're American made...give me Hallmark: one dream, one life, one lover...paint me happy and blue."

The music swells, as your tears run off your jawline. You loved Quinn so much! He had been the prince you had dreamed of, wished for and what had you done?

"Oh god, love him on my lips...touch me with your fingertips...it's me your little Venice bitch."

You'd pull in your driveway, your forehead resting against the steering wheel while you screamed out in agony at your broken heart. Your body hurt from crying for so long, throat sore from such loud emotions, and chest heavy with anxiety. Eventually, you'd exit your car and drag yourself to your front door. You couldn't just crawl into bed after all of that, you would need help in crying yourself to sleep. So, in the kitchen, you'd go through two glasses of wine while you convinced yourself you were such an idiot. Realizing you had thrown away the best thing to ever happen to you, you would being crying to loudly, it was like you were screaming. It was any wonder you hadn't awoken your sleeping neighbors next door. There was no fixing this now. What was done, was done.

All you wanted was some comfort but there would be no one to give you any. Not now. You felt you didn't deserve it anyway.

Leaving the glass and open bottle on the island, you forced yourself to the bathroom to wash your face. Seeing yourself in the mirror --how broken you looked-- had you been any weaker, you would have thrown something at it to erase the image from your mind. If only it would have been that easy to erase Quinn's sad eyes pleading for you not to leave. You wish you would have just left the light off.

In your bedroom, either out of habit or for comfort you grabbed a shirt to sleep in, which had been one of Quinn's. It hadn't taken long for the slight buzz to affect you but you felt no lighter or less phased by your actions. You wondered if you ever would.

As you figured you would, you'd cry into your pillow until flat exhaustion would pull you into sleep. That was until the buzzing of your phone would wake you from the light slumber. On the screen, "Huggy Bear" illuminated the room in bold, white letters. You ended the call, but no sooner had the phone screen gone black, it was flashing again. Like the first one, you swiped the red button and the ringing finally ceased. The next time the phone would buzz would be from a text notification. The words would send butterflies pulling your heart in one hundred different directions.

"I'm outside. Please, may I talk to you?"

Torn between leaving him out there in the cold, and actually giving him a moment to say what he needed to, you laid there for a few minutes before throwing the blankets aside and stumbling down the hall to the living room. Wiping your cheeks, you unlocked the door to find him standing there, his hoodie pulled up around his messy curls and his eyes bloodshot and wet.

You lean against the doorframe for support; arms crossed in an attempt to hide your deeper emotions.

"Y|N, I don't want things to be this way. I don't want things to end like this."

It was so hard, but you stood your ground, no matter how hard you wanted to fall into his body and tell him you were sorry.

"I'll try harder. I shouldn't have taken you for granted like I did."

Finally, you say something to him with a slight shaking of your head," This wasn't all on you. I asked too much. I'm sorry."

Your stifled cries can't be held back for long, and shortly after apologizing, you cover your face with your hands to hide your crying. Your whimpers stab Quinn in the heart all over again, still feeling he's the sole reason you're feeling this way. He steps forward, and wraps his arms around you. He's so warm against the cold night air, which causes your nails to dig into his back, allowing yourself to return his embrace.

"I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" You cried out, holding on to him like a lifeline.

"So am I," Quinn whispered in to your ear, trying to keep you from a panic attack. "C'mon, let's get you back inside. Is that okay?"

You'd allow him to guide you back into the warmth of the your house. He would be the one to shut and lock the door, and through all of that, he'd still keep you pressed against his chest.

"I never wanted to make you cry," he confessed, never realizing how much he could miss the feeling of you in his arms.

"I can't believe I hurt you like that, Quinn," you replied, hiding your face from his.

"Don't apologize, please." he said, nearly on the brink of tears himself. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much that we even got to this point in the first place."

The fact that he had even wanted to see you, to drive outside of the city to get to you, and above all else, not telling you how much of a horrible person you had been, spoke volumes of Quinn's willingness to be better for you. He wrapped both arms around you tighter than he ever had before. You were shivering, wearing nothing but that oversized t-shirt, but you didn't care; being cold wasn't going to take away whatever this moment was with Quinn.

"Are you okay?" He asked, running a hand up and down your spine. "You're shaking."

"I don't know."

"Come on, pretty girl, let's get you back to bed, hm? If you'll let me."

You nod, but were still reluctant to let go of him. Now you were forced to face him and it felt terrible to still see him looking so heartbroken. His cheeks were still wet with fresh tears, as he had apparently been silently crying while he had been holding you. You touched his face and his eyes closed against your touch.

"I'm sorry."

His eyes would open again, and he would try to smile for you. "I'm sorry, too."

Without another world, Quinn would guide you back down the hall to your bedroom, rather familiar with where everything was in the house. The light was off, your phone lay in the middle of the bed with the screen on. Your wallpaper was a picture of Quinn and yourself at last year's Stanley Cup playoffs, and it was the only light in the room. Quinn would click on one of the bedside lamps before reaching for your phone.

"I always loved that photo," he said, lingering on the photo for a moment before shutting off the screen and laying it next to the lamp.

You'd crawl into the bed and he would move to tuck you in, "I don't want you to hate me, Quinn."

He'd stop moving to return his eyes to your face. "I don't, sweetheart. I don't think I could...ever. It hasn't crossed my mind."

"But--"

"I'm not upset with you, baby. This is on me. What you said was true: I should have paid more attention.

You gasped through the beginnings of another crying fit, "I don't deserve it!"

"Shh, shh," Quinn leaned forward to cradle your face with his hand. "I needed to hear it, baby. The truth hurts sometimes. I'll be okay once you are."

"Will you-- will you stay tonight?" You asked, terrified he could possibly deny your request, trying to stop crying.

"Of course," he managed to actually smile. "I'd love to."

"Quinn, I'm so--"

"It's okay, it's okay. We've both said it enough."

You'd sniffle with an added nod as he pulled back the covers to get in next to you. He'd turn off the lamp before you found your place against his chest.

"I'll be right here when you get up, okay?" He assured.

"Promise?" You mumbled.

"I promise. I also promise not to make you feel like this again."

You didn't know what to say. It was like he had completely forgiven you for everything. "I don't want to lose you."

"You haven't sweetheart. I'm right here," he said, running a hand through your hair. "I love you."

Quinn's admission made you cry again, "I love you, too, baby."

"Shh, shh, you don't need to cry. I'm right here. I'm yours as long as you want me."

[angelofthenight01]

A first step to believe

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Hey, guys! So, I'm new here and I've decided to start posting some short stories I wrote of characters I like. I hope you enjoy!

genre: fluff || warnings: none

You had always been a quiet observer in the background, preferring to stay out of the limelight, especially with someone as powerful and captivating as Wanda Maximoff around. You worked with her on several occasions in the Avengers compound—whether it was helping with strategy or assisting in the tech department—but you never quite felt like you belonged in her world.

She was magic and mystery incarnate. Her powers, her strength, her vulnerability... all tangled up in that red aura that surrounded her. You, on the other hand, were just... you. A normal human with a special skill set, not even close to the god-like powers Wanda wielded.

But something had changed over the last few weeks. You’d caught her eyes a few times—just for a brief moment—and there was something there. Something soft. Something that hinted at a longing you couldn’t quite interpret.

It started on one particularly quiet evening in the compound. The rest of the team had scattered for some downtime, and you found yourself in the kitchen, making tea to unwind. Your hands trembled slightly from the long day of troubleshooting tech issues, and you were looking forward to a peaceful moment alone.

But as you poured the hot water into your mug, the door creaked open.

“Mind if I join you?” Wanda’s voice was soft, a lilting accent tinged with something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Of course,” you said, offering a small smile. “I was just about to make some tea.”

She stepped into the room, a flicker of hesitation passing over her features. Her eyes—those impossibly deep, captivating eyes—met yours. You could see the exhaustion in her posture, the weight of the past few missions still lingering on her.

“You look like you could use a moment,” you added, hoping she wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

She hesitated, and for a second, you thought she might decline and retreat to the solitude she so often sought. Instead, she gave you a small smile and nodded. “I could use the company.”

You poured her a cup and passed it over, your fingers brushing for a brief moment. Wanda’s gaze lingered on your hand, and then she met your eyes again, her smile softening just a bit. There was an unspoken connection between you, something that had only grown stronger with time.

The silence between you two was comfortable, not awkward. You both sipped your tea, and you found yourself slowly relaxing in her presence.

“I’ve been thinking,” Wanda said suddenly, her voice low. “About... about everything. All the things I’ve done. The things I can do.”

You swallowed, trying to keep the nervous flutter in your chest from taking over. You knew exactly what she meant. Her powers, her trauma, her inner turmoil. It had been a lot for her to bear, especially after everything she had gone through with the Mind Stone, and the aftermath of everything that happened with Vision.

“You’ve been through a lot,” you said gently, meeting her gaze. “But that doesn’t define you, Wanda. You’re so much more than the pain and the power.”

Wanda’s lips parted as though she were about to say something, but she stopped herself. Her gaze drifted away for a moment before returning to you, this time with a look that was almost unreadable.

“I’m not sure I can believe that,” she whispered.

You set your cup down and took a step closer. “You don’t have to believe it all at once. But I do.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The air between you was thick with something unspoken, something that both of you seemed afraid to give voice to. It was like a thread, fragile and delicate, waiting to be pulled. You could feel her uncertainty, but you also felt the quiet yearning in her eyes.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand resting lightly on her arm. She tensed at the touch, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you gave her a reassuring smile.

“I’m here for you,” you said, voice steady, but soft. “Whatever you need.”

Wanda’s eyes softened as she looked at you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. The world outside the compound, with all its dangers and distractions, faded away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet kitchen, surrounded by the warmth of the tea and the gentle hum of the compound around you.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You stepped even closer, your heart hammering now. “You don’t have to have it all figured out. We can figure it out together.”

Wanda looked at you, really looked at you, as though seeing you for the first time. And in that moment, you knew something had shifted between you both.

The tension in the air seemed to crackle with possibility. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she leaned in. Your breath caught in your throat as her lips brushed lightly against yours.

It was soft. Simple. Tentative, even. But it was enough to send a shock of warmth through your entire body.

When she pulled away, her eyes were full of wonder and uncertainty. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped her face gently in your hands, your thumb brushing across her cheekbone. “I’m sure.”

And for the first time in a long while, Wanda allowed herself to believe it, too.

[faynthearted]

this update is devastating for obvious reasons but there's something else I've been thinking about all day

yes, the box is a confirmation that guan shan considered he tian an important person in his life and that he never really moved on after he tian left. that realization is hard-hitting, but my god, there's another underlying component that makes this discovery especially emotional to me

after spending a lifetime in isolation (a deliberate choice for self-preservation btw), he tian now has physical, undeniable evidence that someone cares/cared for him. and not just the idea of him, not the physicality of him (guan shan literally covered his face with tape), but just him and the time they spent together

I imagine this realization must feel like if someone approached you in a quiet and windowless room and said, "there's a bad rainstorm happening outside." you would trust/understand what they're conveying and you'd have an idea of what a 'bad storm' entails. you'd say, "oof, that sucks, hopefully it lets up soon."

but if you actually got up and walked outside and felt the rain pelting your face like bullets and saw trees getting uprooted in the wind and streets flooding with swells of water and roofs getting torn off houses and streetlights shattered and collapsed in the intersections, you'd backpedal and think, "oh shit. I didn't know it was this bad."

that's what I think he tian might be experiencing in those last few panels.

during their school days, guan shan eventually started showing how much he cared about he tian. he tian trusted and understood what guan shan was trying to convey, and he got a taste of what it was like to care for someone and be cared for by someone. he sampled what it’s like to be important to someone, and to be seen by someone in both the dark and the light

but now, years later, opening that (bittersweet) memory box is like the equivalent of walking into the rainstorm. during the entire time he was gone, he tian was hoping that guan shan still remembered/missed him. he knew his absence probably hurt him, but since he wasn’t there to witness the aftermath, he only had an idea of what that hurt looked like. but his hope about guan shan’s feelings wasn't certain and it definitely wasn't verifiable. he tian had an idea of what ‘guan shan cared for me’ and ‘we shared something special’ meant. but, really, he only had memories and his own interpretation of those memories. nothing physical, nothing tangibly conclusive or outright

but now the rain feels like bullets and there’s devastation in knowing that the damage is significant — but somehow there’s also the touching revelation that he tian is lovable and capable of being wanted and missed. it is possible for someone to see the worst sides of him and endure the awful heartbreak he puts them through and still think he’s worth missing/grieving. he risked his self-preservation and the payoff was the best and worst thing that ever happened to him

the box and the layers of torn tape show that guan shan hates what he tian did to him but he doesn’t hate he tian. he kept and memorialized every significant memento in their relationship, even if he did it with some anger or reluctance. this is truly the best-case scenario, yet it’s also a wounding reminder about the time lost and the pain inflicted

at the end of the day, it just hurts

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Death By A Thousand Freckles

Sebastian Sallow x F!OC Rating: Explicit 18+ (smut, profanity); all characters are 18+ Tags: friends to lovers, mutual pining and sexual tension

Summary: Emilia Bell accidentally sees her best friend and teammate, Sebastian Sallow, clad in only a towel after quidditch practice. Now, all she can think about are all those damn freckles.

Notes: I've been traveling so it might be another week or more before I can update my chapter stories, so I gift you all with this shameless smutty one-shot. This is literally just a handful of drabbles I morphed into one story. Characters are 18-year-old seventh years. Emilia Bell is MC.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

"If Imelda fell into a pit of dugbogs, I wouldn’t miss her,” Emilia Bell muttered to herself.

The cold rain had chilled her to the bone. Her quidditch robes clung to her skin and her hair was plastered to her face. Thick mud caked her shoes and splattered up her calves until it met her knees. She was the shining example of someone who was sure to catch pneumonia.

It’d been a particularly grueling quidditch practice that evening. The Slytherin versus Gryffindor match was a week away, and would be the last rivalry match of her Hogwarts career. The same could be said for Imelda Reyes, her team captain who was hell-bent on ending her seventh year with the quidditch cup. All their team had to do was beat Gryffindor, and then they’d have a spot in the championship match against Ravenclaw.

Imelda had become more maniacal than ever, scheduling five practices per week in rain or shine. Preventing a goblin rebellion had been more pleasant than this, Emilia decided.

Emilia sat on a bench in the locker room to tend to a particularly nasty scrape she’d received after a collision with one of her fellow Chasers. The impact had stripped her skin raw and she winced as she bandaged it, making a mental note to stop by Professor Sharp’s private potion cupboard before dinner.

The rest of the team trickled in and out of the locker room in a rush to get away from Imelda’s orders for the evening. Emilia took her time, savoring the peaceful silence that accompanied her to the shower without the interruption of her teammates.

The steam was intoxicating as she stepped inside, the hot water pelting her chilled skin until it adjusted to the stark difference in temperature. She closed her eyes and tried to force all thought to melt away, washing it down the drain with the remainder of her day.

She’d stay in there forever if she could, but Ominis Gaunt was counting on her for a study session in the Undercroft after practice. 

Still, she leaned against the wall, the cool tile chilling the skin of her back as she willed herself to relax. It’d be a lot easier said than done if it hadn’t been for her idiot of a best friend.

Emilia thought she was going to make it through one quidditch practice without incident, but on the final round of training drills, a spare bludger got loose and she spent the last 15 minutes of practice trying to reign it in. It, of course, had been Sebastian Sallow’s fault. It always was.

And per usual, Emilia took it upon herself to help him. After nearly three years, she still couldn’t help herself, even if it was his fault because he’d been too busy talking about some book he read to properly secure all the equipment.

So she was the one to watch as Sebastian lunged at the bludger, forcing it to the ground until the two of them managed to wrestle it into its crate, leaving Emilia muddy, wet and bruised. It certainly wasn’t the first time Sebastian Sallow’s actions had left her in such a state.

She sighed to herself, scrubbing away the dirt and grime as if it would also rinse her clean of the filthy thoughts that plagued her head. And, like usual, Sebastian was to blame for those too.

Of course, he didn’t know she’d suppressed the urge to tackle him into that mud and straddle him. He didn’t know that the chill of the rain wasn’t the only reason for the shivers that coursed down her back. He didn’t know her quidditch uniform wasn’t the only thing that was soaking wet.

He didn’t know she was hopelessly in love with him. No one did.

So when the sight of Sebastian covered in mud made their teammates flinch in disgust, Emilia leaned in closer. She helped him secure that stupid bludger and smirked. He thought it was because she was teasing him for his incompetence. He had no idea she was eyeing the way his wet uniform adhered to the skin of his toned torso. 

She had to exhale slowly, the heat of her body rising at no fault of the hot water and steam. But it was too late. Those shameful thoughts of Sebastian and his tight, drenched clothing were embedded, snaking into the deepest caverns of her brain.

Her hand immediately snapped to her core, two fingers sinking inside. She chewed at her bottom lip as they dipped deeper, pressing into the spongy spot of flesh that made her breath hitch. But it wasn’t quick enough. Her fingers were dissatisfactory compared to the fantasy that clung to her senses. 

She wanted Sebastian and all the features only he could provide; that mop of messy hair that she wanted nothing more than to pull; that arrogant smirk that she wanted pressed against her neck; those tiny freckles that she wanted to count, one-by-one, until she’d examined every inch of his skin. 

She was too impatient, too desperate and needy to prolong her fantasy. So instead her fingers swiped against her clit, pressing and pulling, begging for release.

Finally, her nerves complied, the familiar swell of tingling cresting within her until it broke, sending her cunt into a sharp shudder that made her whimper in an attempt to be discreet.

When it was over, she rested her head back against the wall, the water washing away her secret little sin, but not the dastardly thoughts of her best friend.

She sighed and finished her shower, the water faucet creaking to a halt before she wrapped a towel around herself. The scent of her vanilla soap lingered through the steam. The locker room was quiet, all of her teammates gone in search of dinner.

She exited the row of girls’ showers to the locker room, where her clothes were stashed away. With no one else around, she could dress comfortably rather than in the cramped confines of the damp showers.

Except she wasn’t alone. She froze at the sight of those familiar shoulders, broad and peppered in freckles that would outshine any constellation in the night skies. The temptation to reach out and touch them was suffocating. Like Emilia, he was wrapped in nothing but a towel, though he bore much more skin than her.

“Sebastian,” she breathed, praying her tone wasn’t betraying her.

He turned and smirked when his gaze fell on her. She stood, shivering in her towel, water still clinging to her skin in droplets with her wet hair slicked back.

“Didn’t realize anyone else was still here,” Sebastian said. She barely heard him. She was too focused on looking anywhere but the waistline where his towel hung tantalizingly low.

“Had to take some extra time in the shower,” she croaked as nonchalantly as her voice would allow. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her and her cheeks flushed. “Because of all that mud, thanks to you,” she added quickly.

Sebastian laughed through his nose. “Right. Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not.” Sebastian frowned as he eyed the bandage on her forearm. “Was that from your collision with Jennings?”

“It’s fine,” Emilia said dismissively. “Just a shallow scrape.”

“He’s an idiot,” Sebastian muttered. He took a step closer to Emilia, reaching for her forearm to examine the bandages she had charmed to repel the shower water. “Keep a close eye on that,” Sebastian murmured. “Don’t want it to get infected.”

Emilia snorted. “Seb, I’ve suffered much, much worse,” she laughed softly. “Remember that Ashwinder in Cragcroftshire?”

“Just making sure,” Sebastian said simply, his hand maintaining its gentle grip on her wrist. His thumb rubbed gentle circles over her forearm as he searched her eyes, as if he was trying to confirm she was genuinely all right. It made Emilia shudder.

“I’m sure I’ll recover from a little collision,” she said as Sebastian released her arm.

“Yes, yes, I know, the hero of Hogwarts,” he sighed, his lips curving in a teasing smirk. 

He clearly hadn’t showered yet. There was a swipe of mud across his right cheek and his legs were covered in it. His messy hair was wet from the rain and his cheeks were red from the chilly air.

She had never been more attracted to him.

But as his gaze lingered on her, still clutching her towel for dear life, she wanted nothing more than to sink into the earth. She was too bare, too naked, too vulnerable. She was certain Sebastian didn’t see her in that way, anyway. Nearly three years of closeness, of sharing all their secrets, thoughts and fears, and he had never so much as held her hand.

But he also had told her he needed her – couldn’t live without her, as he so kindly put it one day after they’d had a particularly nasty disagreement. She was his rock, his glue, his beating heart. She had Sebastian Sallow in every way except the one she wanted.

“If you stick around, I’ll walk you back to the castle after I shower,” Sebastian said, his eyes still on her.

Stick around? Merlin. If she stuck around, she was certain she’d end up embarrassing herself. Fainting in a towel in the middle of the quidditch locker room in front of Sebastian would be worse than losing any duel or falling asleep during class.

Still, Emilia’s thoughts inched closer to that fine line, teetering toward those maddening images of all the things she and Sebastian could do while alone in that locker room. Two towels, tossed haphazardly on the floor; skin pressed into the tile walls, the grout lines leaving divots in their flesh; the sounds of their moans echoing off the walls, drowned out by the rain outside.

But she didn’t want to wait for him. She wanted to join him.

He was going to be the death of her. Her heart hammered inside her chest and her palms began to sweat. Her body was betraying her. She needed to get out of that locker room sooner than later.

“I’ve got to get back,” she said as steadily as she could manage. “I’m already late for a study session with Ominis. You know how he is about punctuality.”

Sebastian tutted. “Another time then.”

And then she watched those broad shoulders turn and retreat toward the boys’ showers, each freckle growing smaller and more out of reach.

What she didn’t know was that Sebastian had to commit a similar act of sin in the showers the moment he was out of sight.

---

Emilia spent two days obsessing over what Sebastian had meant.

“Another time then?”

Another time for what? Surely she had simply misconstrued the context of it all, especially considering Sebastian behaved completely normal after that. 

She chalked it up to a simple slip of the tongue. She went about her days, teasing and laughing with her best friend like she hadn’t had to touch herself to the thought of him in the shower. It wasn’t the first time she’d fantasized over him and it certainly wouldn’t be the last – not when amortentia was the topic of the day’s Potions class.

Emilia was relieved to be paired with Ominis, but glanced around the classroom nervously. Sebastian had been paired with Imelda.

Emilia smelled leather and cinnamon in her amortentia potion immediately; leather because of Sebastian’s favorite chair in the Slytherin Common Room, where he’d often sit and read before bed; cinnamon for the way he took his tea each morning – with more cinnamon than most people could stand.

“What do you smell?” Ominis asked her as they put the final touches on their potion.

She pursed her lips, unsure how to answer. If she declined, surely someone would deduce that the source of her favorite scent was in the classroom. If she answered honestly, Ominis would surely know who she was referring to.

“I smell… leather and citrus,” she half lied. “And just a touch of something sweet. Pear, I think.”

Ominis appeared deep in thought as he considered her words, and she was grateful he couldn’t see the way her cheeks were flushed.

“What do you smell?” she finally asked. 

“Honey and hay,” Ominis answered. Emilia smiled to herself. He had just described Poppy Sweeting.

“Hay, you say,” Emilia mused. “Like someone who might spend quite a bit of time around creatures.”

Ominis scowled at her implications. Emilia had spent months trying to coax him to admit his feelings for her petite Hufflepuff friend. But Ominis remained silent on the matter, though she was certain the pair would be a perfect match.

“Maybe you should spend a little more time hanging around the Beasts classroom,” Emilia suggested with a soft smile. “Since you enjoy the scent of honey and hay so much.”

“Maybe you should keep your mouth shut about this unless you want me to rethink my stance on Unforgivable Curses,” Ominous hummed. Emilia cracked her bubblegum in delight.

“Oi, what if all I smell is the quidditch pitch?” they overheard Imelda ask.

Emilia snorted. “How typical,” she muttered.

“Sallow here won’t tell me what he smells!” Imelda continued. “I reckon it’s something embarrassing like sweaty socks.”

“Why the fuck would I enjoy sweaty socks?” Sebastian retorted. Emilia shot him an amused glance, to which he rolled his eyes. She blew a bubble with her gum and shook her head before returning her attention to her own potion.

But instead of stirring her brew, her focus was whisked away by more provocative daydreams. What did Sebastian smell in his amortentia? Which lucky witch was the object of his desires? Did he fantasize over anyone the way Emilia thought of him? Did he long to count the freckles on someone else’s skin?

Sebastian had engaged in his fair share of after-hours activities with Hogwarts’ female population. But he and Emilia rarely discussed their romances, at least not with much earnesty. Emilia herself had only recently ended things with Amit Thakkar after deciding they were better off as friends. She didn’t dare tell anyone that, even when her affections were supposed to belong to someone else, Sebastian was always her final thought before she fell asleep each night.

She wondered what occurred in Sebastian’s fantasies. Had he ever pictured someone while in the shower, visions of slick skin pressed against skin? Perhaps he was more into public displays, sneaking sinful acts that were hidden in plain view of passerby? Was he more of the dominant type? Surely he was, Emilia decided. Sebastian loved to be in control, a perfect contrast to her desire to be pinned down and put in her place.

A sudden gurgling stole Emilia from her reverie. Her cheeks were hot and she was grateful for the distraction happening on the other side of the classroom.

“Garreth!” Ominis groaned at the familiar sight of Garreth Weasley’s cauldron boiling over. Its contents hissed as they spilled over the brim, splashing over the table and floor.

“Weasley!” Professor Sharp barked. “See me after class, once you’ve cleaned your mess up. Class dismissed.”

Emilia nodded to Ominis and scooped up her books to hurry from the classroom. She didn’t want anyone to see her flushed face or jittery state as she made a beeline to the Slytherin Common Room.

She also didn’t hear Ominis and Sebastian discussing their amortentia potions on the way out.

“What did you smell in yours?” Ominis asked his best friend curiously.

Sebastian’s eyes swept the corridor before he ran a hand through his hair. “Vanilla,” he answered. “Vanilla and bubblegum.”

---

“Ow, Sebastian, you stepped on my foot!” Emilia hissed.

“Whoops, sorry.”

“Sorry? I ought to hex you. You’ve got to be more careful!”

“Yes, mum.”

“Ew, don’t call me that.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Shh! Here they come.”

Emilia and Sebastian were crouched beneath the bleachers of the quidditch pitch, disillusionment charms cast as their eyes peeked through the wooden tiers. Somehow, the pair had drawn the short straw from Imelda and was ordered to spy on the Gryffindor team during practice.

Emilia noted that what they were doing could be considered cheating, to which Sebastian shrugged and Imelda threatened to burn her house down. Not to mention she owed Imelda one for the time her captain covered for her to keep her out of detention. Imelda had only done it so Emilia wouldn’t miss quidditch practice, but Emilia was indebted to her all the same.

“This is ridiculous,” Emilia groaned as she crawled to a spot where she could see the entire pitch while remaining out of view, her disillusionment charm falling. She sat and pulled her knees to her chest as she watched the Gryffindor Chasers toss a quaffle back and forth.

“Could be worse,” Sebastian shrugged as he sat next to her. He fished through his pockets before he brandished a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. He offered the open container to Emilia, who shook her head and cracked her bubblegum in response.

They watched the Gryffindors start their training drills, the students darting patterns through the air on their broomsticks overhead.

“Think we can beat them?” Sebastian asked.

Emilia tilted her head to look at him pointedly. “I think we can demolish them,” she answered blankly. “They’re bigger than most of us, but we’re faster.”

“They’ll play physical, especially up top,” Sebastian murmured. “We’ll need to keep an eye on you. They’re bound to mark you with double-coverage.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Emilia mused. “I can handle my own.”

“Trust me, I know you can.” 

They fell quiet again, making mental notes as they watched Gryffindor’s tactics. Sebastian’s attention span quickly subsided, his gaze falling closer and closer to the ground until he had clearly become lost in thought. 

Emilia studied him from the corner of her eye. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up and his green tie loosely knotted around his neck. She wanted to grab that tie and pull him in closer. No one would see them. She could crawl into his lap, his hands inching beneath the hem of her skirt over her thighs as she kissed every fucking freckle on his face. As long as they remained quiet, no one would ever know.

She swallowed and forced her gaze to return to the Gryffindors zig-zagging above. 

“Think their Beaters will take a more offensive approach?” Emilia wondered. “If they remain back on defense, I doubt their Chasers will be quick enough to dodge all of us.”

Sebastian nodded in agreement. They watched as Garreth Weasley smacked a bludger through a goal hoop.

“Not to mention Weasley has the attention span of a niffler,” he added. Emilia smirked.

“That too,” she agreed.

“What’s this I hear about Weasley asking you to Hogsmeade, by the way?” Sebastian suddenly asked. Emilia’s head snapped to look at him, her eyes narrowing.

“How’d you hear about that?” she demanded.

“Ominis.”

Emilia hissed a sigh. “Traitor,” she muttered.

“What, you didn’t want me to know Weasley asked you out?”

“I couldn’t care less if you or anyone else knows,” Emilia said. “But it really isn’t anyone’s business. Especially because I turned him down anyway.”

“Why’d you say no?”

“Because I didn’t want to go out with him,” Emilia answered simply.

“You still getting over Thakkar?”

Emilia blinked. “What?” she asked, not bothering to mask her dumbfounded expression. “Amit and I broke up weeks ago.”

“Yeah, but… I mean, are you okay about it now? You’ve seemed alright but you aren’t exactly the type to ask for help,” Sebastian said.

“I’m fine, Seb,” Emilia assured. “It was never that serious with Amit to begin with.”

“Why’d you break up?”

Emilia stirred, unsure why Sebastian was suddenly peppering her with questions about her love life. It wasn’t that she had assumed he didn’t care, but romance wasn’t quite his preferred topic of discussion.

“I don’t know,” Emilia sighed. “Amit’s wonderful. Very kind and romantic, but I’m not sure any of that sickly sweet romance is for me.”

Sebastian blinked at her. “What woman doesn’t want a kind and romantic partner?” he asked, thoroughly confused. “I thought that was all you birds wanted.”

Emilia rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so daft. Sure, I like kindness and romance, but I also like a little assertiveness.” The admission made her cheeks grow rosy and she averted her gaze from him.

“Assertiveness?” Sebastian repeated, his box of candy forgotten beside him. Emilia could feel his eyes drilling into her profile, but she determinedly remained positively enthralled by Gryffindor’s training drills.

“Sebastian,” she warned with a huff.

“No, tell me,” Sebastian pushed. “What do you mean by that?”

Emilia finally dropped her gaze to meet his. Sunlight was peeking through the bleachers, the lines of light casting a spotlight on Sebastian’s freckles. Emilia hugged her knees closer to her chest while she stared at those freckles, as if they carried an explanation that wouldn’t leave her embarrassed beyond ruin. She knew Sebastian would never judge her, but she also didn’t want to reveal the nature of her desires.

After all, Sebastian was the one asserting himself in all her fantasies.

“It means exactly as it sounds,” Emilia said flatly. “Think about it. Amit is a wonderful person but he’s not exactly the type to take charge or take control.”

Sebastian leaned back against a wood post, his arms folded across his chest as the realization dawned on him. “So you like to be dominated,” he murmured.

Emilia fidgeted with the bandage on her arm. “Something like that,” she tried to say casually as she avoided her gaze again.

“Guess that shouldn’t surprise me,” Sebastian hummed.

“What? Why?” Emilia asked sharply, her mouth suddenly going dry as her eyes met his again.

Sebastian shrugged as a bludger whizzed nearby. “Because you’re a control freak in every other aspect of your life,” he replied. “You’re a goddamn hero, for Merlin’s sake. You’ve had the world on your shoulders. You dissect every person dumb enough to duel you. You get top marks in every class. Group projects make your hair curl because you’d rather do everything on your own.”

Emilia blinked. She certainly couldn’t deny any of that. Sebastian knew her better than anyone.

“You’re always in control, Em,” Sebastian continued. “So I guess it makes sense you’d prefer to… let go of some of that control in the bedroom.

“Sebastian!” Emilia hissed. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her sexual preferences with the one person she wanted to indulge those desires. 

Sebastian chuckled. “It’s rather cute when you’re flustered,” he noted. “Not so in control now, are you?”

Emilia was certain he could hear her heartbeat slamming in her chest, despite the whoosh of broomsticks and batting of bludgers above them. He was right, though. She’d always been the epitome of composure. He was the only person who managed to make her lose her cool. And Merlin, was she hot.

“My sex life is none of your business,” she finally chided. 

“Oh, come on,” Sebastian laughed as he lifted his arms to rest them behind his head, his long legs stretching out. “We need to talk about something interesting while we pretend to give a damn about those Gryffindors.”

“Fine,” Emilia said simply. “What about you? I assume I already know the answer, but enlighten me anyway. Do you prefer to be in control or do you like your women to throw you around for a bit?”

Sebastian smirked, which only made Emilia’s stomach twist into a tighter knot.

“I wouldn’t turn my nose up at either of those scenarios,” he said with an air of smugness. “But if I had to choose, I always prefer to take control.”

Emilia swallowed. She had to be dying from dehydration given how parched she was. It was too bloody hot to be sitting outside, secluded with Sebastian and the topic of sex.

“Just as I figured,” Emilia said, hoping she sounded confident. She wanted so badly to match him, to challenge his arrogance. But she also wanted to be the submissive complement to his dominance. It was a maddening conflict.

“Oh? What makes you take me for the dominant type?”

Emilia snorted. “Oh, come on, Seb,” she said. “Everything about you screams dominant.”

“I like screaming.”

Emilia’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. Was there something in the air that was causing him to speak so flirtatiously? Sure, the pair flirted, teased and joked, but this felt much bolder than anything they’d previously discussed. Sebastian seemed to be pushing her buttons, testing her limits.

“You’re a downright pig,” Emilia said, though her laughing tone and smiling eyes stripped her of all seriousness. Sebastian merely grinned and shrugged a shoulder.

“You’re right, though,” he said. “There’s a lot to be said for the power that comes with taking control.”

“That’s not why you do it, though,” Emilia noted. “At least, it’s not the only reason.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Emilia rolled her eyes, her sweaty palms tucked beneath her legs as she spoke. “You’re also a very giving person, Seb. You give everything your all. You don’t do anything halfway… Which is why you like to take control. It allows you to ensure your… partner is fully satisfied.”

Sebastian let out a low whistle. “I knew you were perceptive, but now I’m starting to suspect you’re a Legilimens,” he said. “Almost as if you’ve given this quite a bit of thought.”

Oh, if only he knew. The heat in Emilia’s cheeks was surely giving her away.

“You could only be so lucky,” she shot back. 

“Apparently,” Sebastian replied, his eyes glinting with amusement. They fell quiet and Emilia fidgeted with her skirt hem. When Sebastian noticed this, he nudged her gently in the side.

“No need to be so bashful about it, darling,” he said. “It’s just me.”

That was the problem. Emilia wasn’t the type to shy away from much of anything. Few things scared her, or even unsettled her. And even though she and Sebastian knew one another deeper than anyone, he was the one person who could unnerve her without even trying.

“You are distracting me from my scouting,” Emilia said, gesturing toward the quidditch pitch. Sebastian snorted.

“Please,” he drawled. “Like you’re worried about Gryffindor. Just flip your hair at Weasley or something and the game’s over.”

“Flip my hair? Sebastian, that’s awfully sexist of you.”

“Well, it’s true! I’d do it myself but I don’t think I’m Weasley’s type. He’s got it bad for you. Just do that thing where you draw your hair back with your hand and chew on your bottom lip. That’s enough to send anyone into a spiral.”

“ What thing?!”

“Nevermind.”

“No, what the hell are you talking about?” Emilia was sitting straight up, her body turned to face Sebastian with full attention. 

“Forget I said anything.”

“No, tell me right now.” Emilia shoved a hand against his shoulder for emphasis.

“Hey, no need for physical violence!”

“Tell me!”

Sebastian sighed and tilted his head backward, resting it against the post as he peered upward into the bleachers for a moment.

“You do this thing,” he started carefully. “Where you pull your back into a ponytail and hold it in your hand. And then you chew on your bottom lip. You do it when you’re deep in concentration, like your hair in your face is a distraction or something. It’s just very… very alluring.”

Emilia tensed. “Alluring,” she repeated blankly. She didn’t know Sebastian could ever think of her that way. 

Sebastian nodded silently. “Perhaps even a bit provocative.”

Oh, Merlin. They were in for it now. Emilia could feel herself hurtling toward her demise, and Sebastian had been the one to push her from the ledge.

“Provocative,” she whispered.

It was Sebastian’s turn to shift uncomfortably. It was a rare act of vulnerability he couldn’t conceal. He had all but admitted outright to her that he’d envisioned her partaking in racy deeds that surely breached the boundaries of friendship. 

But the way the hem of her skirt had snaked its way above her knees had turned his brain to dust. There wasn’t a single coherent thought behind his eyes as she continued to mull his words over.

He prayed she wouldn’t sense his discomfort; the beads of sweat that had settled along his hairline; the clench of his jaw that made his teeth ache; the stiffening inside his trousers that threatened to ruin everything.

It suddenly dawned on them that their faces were much closer than usual. Sebastian could smell the sweetness of her bubblegum. Emilia could see every freckle with clarity. A few more inches and their lips could solve all their problems.

But the shrill whistle that signaled the end of Gryffindor’s practice made them both jump and sent them scrambling to their feet.

“They’re going to come this way,” Emilia hissed as she recast her disillusionment charm. All thoughts of indulging in any fantasy were abandoned as the pair scurried back toward the castle.

---

The evening before the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match was met with tension. Imelda had been a downright tyrant during practice, screaming until she was hoarse. The team practiced for three hours in the rain, until Madam Kogawa showed up to bark orders at them to return to the castle.

“There won’t be a match tomorrow if you’ve all got pneumonia!” she scolded.

The remainder of the team showered and scampered back to the castle, eager to rest up for the evening. Emilia remained behind again, sitting quietly lost in thought on the locker room bench.

She wanted to claim her thoughts were focused on the next day’s match. She wished she could chalk it all up to nerves and her determination to win. She longed to be that dedicated to her team and sport.

In reality, her attempts at thinking about quidditch vanished the moment she realized she was alone. Those stupid, calamitous fantasies about those freckles surged through her brain again.

She and Sebastian hadn’t spoken in two days, not since the afternoon under the bleachers. Emilia had managed to avoid him at all costs, even slinking in late to their shared classes so he couldn’t sit by her.

It was all painfully immature, but Emilia had no other option. She was terrified by what her conversation with Sebastian meant – or didn’t mean. Was it shameless, silly flirting? It had to be, right? If Sebastian had ever been interested in her romantically, he would have said something or made a move by now, right?

Emilia was too cowardly to find out. She’d long ago come to terms with the conclusion that she and Sebastian would never venture beyond friendship, but it would splinter her heart to ever hear that confirmation out loud.

She’d rather suffer in silence than ever broach the subject that could dissolve her daydreams forever.

“Don’t tell me you got hurt again.”

Emilia’s head snapped up. “Sebastian,” she breathed. He leaned against an archway, still clad in his quidditch robes like her.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked. “You’ve missed dinner.”

“So have you,” Emilia pointed out.

“I was polishing my broomstick in the storage cupboard.” Emilia straightened in her seat, forcing Sebastian to bark a laugh. “Not like that,” he mused. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“You said it, not me,” Emilia mumbled.

Sebastian chuckled and pushed himself off the archway, slowly approaching until he stood in front of her. Her fingers dug into the tops of her knees.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said gently as he peered down at her.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy scrambling to get away from me.”

“Nonsense,” Emilia said, praying Sebastian hadn’t noticed the way her voice increased by an octave. “Seb, I’ve had a lot going on.”

“Oh? With Eric Northcott?”

“What?”

“I heard he was trying to get you alone in the Potions storeroom yesterday.”

“And you believed that?” Emilia asked incredulously.

“I believe he was trying to get you alone,” Sebastian answered. “Didn’t say anything about thinking you’d actually join him.”

“Good,” Emilia said with indignation. “Because our little… conversation the other day doesn’t mean I’m rabid with lust for every male to walk the halls of Hogwarts.”

“Oh believe me, I know. We all do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emilia demanded.

“It means that we’ve all noticed you, but most of us are too terrified of you to do anything about it.”

Emilia narrowed her eyes. “Terrified of me,” she scoffed. “Sebastian, please. I haven’t hexed anyone in the school since last term, and we all know Puffskein Duncan deserved it.”

“Maybe so, but you’re still pretty intimidating,” Sebastian noted.

“How am I possibly intimidating?” Emilia breathed. “Just because I’m powerful with a wand doesn’t mean I’m some bloodthirsty killer.”

“We’re not scared of you because you can kick our arses. We’ve known that for years now,” Sebastian said. “We’re scared of you because you’re too damn beautiful and none of us know how to handle it.”

The air vacated Emilia’s lungs immediately. It made her woozy and she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d slipped into one of her dreams. Perhaps she was sleepwalking, or maybe she’d been the victim of one of Garreth’s concoctions that made the drinker manic. She couldn’t fathom a lucid world where Sebastian Sallow thought she was beautiful. Sure, other boys fancied her dark hair and bright smile, but Sebastian had always appeared immune to her appearance. He never seemed to pay any mind to her softer, feminine side. 

“Sebastian, did you take a bludger to the head?” Emilia asked. “You’re talking crazy.”

He let out a pitchy laugh and sat on the bench next to her, close enough so that their thighs touched.

“You can play coy as much as you want,” he said. “Especially if that’s your thing.”

“My thing?”

Sebastian smirked at her. “You said you like it when someone else takes control in these situations. I’m merely listening to what I’ve learned.”

Emilia’s stomach did somersaults. This couldn’t be happening. She sat, her shoulders tense as her nails pressed tiny divots into her legs. 

“Sebastian,” she rasped. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking control,” Sebastian said simply. “I’m tired of overhearing all these stupid little rumors about you and Northcott and Weasley. I’m claiming what’s mine.”

“What’s yours?”

“If you’ll have me.”

There were no words. Things like this didn’t happen to Emilia. Her life’s story was marred by tragedy – death, destruction, the fate of the wizarding world left within her hands. Wild, lustful romance was usually reserved for her imagination, far from reality. 

“Sebastian, are you sure? Do you even know what you’re saying? Have you been meddling with dark relics again?” 

Sebastian glowered at her and she couldn’t help but smile. “I know exactly what I’m saying,” he said. “It’s the same thing I’ve wanted to say for nearly three years.”

“What?”

“Come on, Emilia,” Sebastian sighed. “I’m trying to be seductive here.”

Emilia snorted. “Sebastian, this is ridiculous.” His face fell, to Emilia’s horror. “Not because I’m not… interested, but because you don’t need to seduce me.”

“I don’t?”

“No, idiot,” Emilia breathed with a laugh. “You could’ve just straight up told me.”

“Oh. Well I wasn’t sure-”

“Well now you are.”

“I am?”

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“For once in your life, stop talking. Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

He obliged. 

Hands grasped hungrily at robes, pants and other articles of clothing as the pair refused to separate their lips. When they finally parted for a breath of air, Sebastian pulled away slightly to smile.

“Bubblegum,” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“Bubblegum. That’s what I smelled in my amortentia. Bubblegum and some sort of vanilla.”

“Oh,” Emilia smiled. “The vanilla is the soap I use in the shower.”

“Ah.”

“Care to see it?”

Within mere moments, Sebastian had her pinned against the wall of one of the girls’ showers. He kissed her hard, his tongue seeking more bubblegum flavor from hers as he peeled away the final bits of clothing that remained over her hips.

“Unreal,” he breathed as his eyes roamed her naked body. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

He stepped closer to her, his bare cock pressing against the flesh of her stomach as he kissed her again. She arched her back off the wall at the sensation, desperate to find out how hard he could get.

Sebastian reached for the faucet as he kept his lips crushed against hers, the hiss of hot water showering them as their fingers familiarized themselves with the other’s flesh.

Emilia reached for his cock but his hand found hers, curling around her wrist. He swept his arm upward, pinning her arm against the tile above her head.

“Didn’t say you could have the privilege of touching me just yet,” he said in her ear. His voice was a low, husky grumble.

They were only getting started and Emilia was already melting beneath the authority Sebastian was asserting. She was never going to be the same after this.

Sebastian pressed a kiss to her neck, drawing a low moan from her. His mouth moved across the ridge of her collar bone to the top of her breasts. 

“I can’t believe anyone was created so perfectly,” he mumbled against the swell of her right breast. He placed another kiss to it before his tongue slipped over her nipple. It made her breath hitch and core quiver.

Sebastian continued his trail of kisses downward as he sank to his own knees in front of her. He planted a kiss just below her belly button, then one on each hip bone before he flashed her a villainous smile. 

He placed one more kiss to the skin just above her slit before his tongue sank inward toward her entrance. It made Emilia gasp with fervor. Sebastian’s tongue glided over her clit, pressing into her folds. A low growl rumbled from his throat as he tasted her arousal.

“Sebastian,” she breathed, her eyes falling shut as his tongue flattened and flicked against her clit. Her hips jutted forward and one hand tangled in his hair.

Sebastian’s hands gripped her thighs as he lapped at her, desperate to know how she sounded when she fell apart.

His mouth engulfed her entire entrance, sucking against her flesh as he savored her taste. Emilia whimpered at the heat that coursed through her. It settled in her nerve endings, searing in the form of a familiar ache Emilia never thought Sebastian would ever relieve.

“Sebastian, I-”

Her words died as Sebastian traced spell patterns across her clit, a trick he’d learned from listening to the older boys during his early Hogwarts days. He drove his tongue harder against her until he could feel her thighs start to quake. They jiggled in his hands and he hummed at the sensation. 

The vibration made Emilia moan, her climax creeping to the surface. She grinded her hips against him, nudging her clit in quick, jerking motions against his tongue. The curtain of tension inside her fell and the swell of ecstasy started. It erupted through the bundle of nerves and made her toes curl as her back arched off the wall, a moan singing through the shower corridor.

She slumped over when it subsided, a fog clouding her thoughts as she recovered. Sebastian sat back on his heels as she caught her breath. 

“My turn,” he said as he stood. He propped himself against the wall with one hand as he leaned in to kiss her. Steam surrounded them as Sebastian’s hands rested on Emilia’s hips.

She melted into his kiss, her head still hazy until Sebastian drew her closer by the waist with a rough pull. He kissed her harder, one hand tangling in her hair until he gave it a sharp tug. Emilia’s head snapped back and he kissed her neck before he guided her away from the wall by the hair.

“I said, my turn,” he said quietly. He pulled his arm downward, forcing Emilia to her knees by her hair. She eyed his erection and reached for it with one hand until Sebastian swatted it away.

“Use your mouth,” he ordered. Emilia obliged. 

She took him into her mouth, her hands resting against his thighs as her head bobbed. Sebastian kept one hand fisted in her hair, pulling it away from her face in a ponytail. He smirked as the visions once confined to his daydreams came to life.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured, his eyes holding affection as he admired the way her lips wrapped around his cock.

When his tip hit the back of her throat, he grunted at the plush warmth. Emilia gurgled around him, holding him in her throat as she nodded her head. When she pulled away, her lips dragged over his shaft, tongue flat against the bottom. The cold, pebbled floor left raw and red dimples over her knees.

She hollowed her cheeks as her lips tightened and pulled repeatedly, the sounds of wet lips sucking against flesh resounding over the shower stalls.

Sebastian drove his hips forward, his cock gliding in and out of her mouth as the movements of her head clashed with his thrusts. When his cock began to twitch, Sebastian yanked her makeshift ponytail backward, her lips separating from his cock with a soft pop.

“Stand up,” he ordered as he released her hair. 

Emilia rose to her feet and he pulled her into a long kiss. His hands explored her front, cupping her breasts until they drifted over the curve of her torso and squeezed her hips. His erection bobbed against her stomach, the hot water leaving him slick.

Sebastian eyed the bar of soap that sat on the tiny shelf of the shower, its scent so familiar and comforting. He swiped it over Emilia’s breasts, leaving a trail of milky vanilla. The sight of the soap suds cascading over her nipples made Sebastian chew at his lip in desire. He rubbed his soapy hands over her body, taking care to touch every inch of skin he possibly could. He watched with admiration as the shower streamed lines down her body, rinsing her clean.

“How are you so fucking perfect?” he murmured.

Sebastian pinned her against the wall again, one hand snaking between her thighs. His fingers dragged lazy lines over her clit, the moisture of her arousal combining with the shower water. 

Emilia was growing impatient. She’d take anything Sebastian was willing to give her, but her focus was on convincing him to fill her with his cock. She whined as he sank a finger inside her, her core swollen from her previous orgasm.

“Sebastian,” she begged. “Please, I need more.”

Sebastian tutted in her ear and curled his finger. “You’re going to have to ask nicer than that, darling.”

“Please,” Emilia rasped. Sebastian’s eyes met hers. They were dark with devilry. 

“No,” he said simply. “Not yet.”

Emilia gnawed on her bottom lip to withhold a scream of frustration. Sebastian added a second finger and pumped his hand hard. His fingers forced themselves against her front wall, plunging into her soft sweet spot. The sounds of water and arousal squelched with every motion, drowning out the tiny whimpers escaping Emilia’s throat.

Sebastian attacked her neck with forceful kisses as her breaths grew heavy and quick. They mounted in tandem with the wave inside her, her walls squeezing Sebastian’s fingers in search of release. Emilia’s hips beckoned it from his fingers, which Sebastian pulled upward at a merciless rate. He could feel her clamping tighter and tighter until her head snapped back and she released, her walls fluttering around his fingers as she cried out.

Sebastian smirked at how spent she looked, flushed and sweaty, her hair plastered to her face as the shower rained over her curves. The sight was so sinful, Sebastian’s cock began to throb.

He reached with one hand to shut the water off. The sound of water hitting the rough floor was replaced with the cool, quiet air of the still room. Emilia shivered. 

Sebastian wrapped her in his arms, pressing his body against hers for warmth. But just as she started to relax into the heat of his skin, he scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder as he retreated to the locker room. 

“Sebastian!” she laughed, her breasts flattening against his back. “Put me down!” Sebastian smirked at the sight of her ass, hoisted in the air as her legs dangled in front of him.

When they reached the benches at the center of the locker room, Sebastian set Emilia on her feet. 

“I’ve had years to think about all the different ways I’d have you,” he murmured in her ear. “All the ways I’d make you moan. All the ways you’d take my cock. All the ways we’d both come. The possibilities are endless. But since you like me to be in control, I’ve decided there’s nothing I’d like more than to watch you fall apart beneath me. I want to take you on your knees.”

Emilia nodded in silent agreement, her eyes begging him to begin. Sebastian nudged her toward the bench, where she sank to her knees. Sebastian stood behind her and swiped at her entrance with one hand, the familiar warmth coating his fingers. His cock was so hard, it was damn near painful.

He lined himself against her entrance and pushed forward, the tip of his cock slipping into her folds until she stretched around him. He watched with heavy eyelids as her cunt swallowed his shaft until he was fully sheathed. 

He paused for a moment, swallowing at the searing heat surrounding his cock.

“You’re too fucking tight,” he said through gritted teeth. He had no idea how he was meant to last when she was so taut, so warm beneath him, her skin still glistening and wet. It was far more erotic than anything Sebastian could have imagined. His cock was already twitching.

Emilia’s fingers gripped the side of the bench for stability as Sebastian rocked against her, his cock dipping inward until he pulled it back. Emilia held her breath as her core stretched to accommodate him, the increasing friction making her walls clench.

Sebastian reached for her hair again, tugging backward until Emilia moaned. He watched the ridge of her spine curve as her head snapped backward and grunted at the sight.

He leaned forward to cup her breasts, his hips snapping forward in a harsh thrust. It nearly knocked the wind from Emilia. As Sebastian bent forward to press a kiss to the back of her neck, he murmured, “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“It’s not enough,” Emilia breathed.

The atmosphere shifted like changing winds. Sebastian’s final pillar of hesitation and restraint crumbled like weathered concrete at her words. She was more than he’d even dreamed of and right now, she was his.

Sebastian straightened up, his hands gripping Emilia’s hips as he slammed his cock into her with a resounding smack. The rhythm carried throughout the locker room repeatedly as Sebastian grit his teeth so hard, his jaw ached. He didn’t care. Lightning could strike him down or the ground could collapse and swallow him whole at that moment. He’d die happily now that he knew how it felt to have her.

But if he was going to live, he decided he wasn’t going to do so unless he could have her again and again. He wanted the vision of her falling apart beneath him to be the last thing he saw each night, and he wanted the sound of her moans to fill his dreams until he could wake up and do it all over again.

He’d address that later. For now, he was content to simply have her in that moment, trusting him to take care of her and fulfill her. 

The more her arousal coated his cock, the quicker Sebastian thrusted. His cock drove upward into her, driving into her sweet spot. It was rapid and hard, the pressure mounting within Emilia’s core until it felt like her body might ignite from the heat. Each connection of Sebastian’s thighs against Emilia’s ass made her skin ripple, the waves symbolic of the rising tide within her. Finally, the wave broke and she cried his name, her cunt shuddering around his cock. 

“Fucking hell,” Sebastian groaned at the new sensation of her climax flooding around him. The sight of her spent body, now slack with satisfaction, was too much for him.

He pumped hard into her twice more before he let out a shout and his cock jerked and burst inside her. Emilia moaned at the warmth that coated her swollen core until Sebastian slumped over her back, panting breathlessly above her ear.

He didn’t want to separate from her. The warmth of her soft body felt like home to him. But as her arms shook from supporting her weight and the force of his thrusts, Sebastian pulled himself off of her, one arm tucked around her waist to pull her upright with him.

“All right?” he murmured softly in her ear. She nodded silently as she turned to face him, her hair wild and her eyelids heavy. Sebastian couldn’t help but smile at her sinful and disheveled appearance. “Come here,” he said as he pulled her into his arms. “Come sit.”

He guided her onto the bench where they sat, side by side. Sebastian draped an arm around Emilia, who cuddled up against him. Their bodies, still damp from the shower, seeped water onto the bench as they sat quietly.

Sebastian watched Emilia’s eyes fall shut as she rested against him. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his fingers tracing gentle patterns over her arms as he held her. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled softly, her eyes studying his freckles. She couldn’t believe she was able to study them so close, each speckle marking something unique and special.

“Imelda’s going to kill us if she finds out this happened,” Emilia mumbled.

Sebastian breathed a gentle laugh. “If we beat Gryffindor, Imelda will let us do whatever the hell we want,” he said. “She’d probably encourage this.”

“Perhaps we’ll have to do this on the desk in the captain’s office next time,” Emilia suggested.

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow at her. “Next time, huh?”

Emilia flushed. “Perhaps, if you want,” she said slowly. Was she naive for assuming this was meant to happen more than once? It wasn’t like she and Sebastian had spent any time discussing their intentions.

Sebastian laughed and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “You’re mental if you think I’m letting you do this with anyone else, ever again,” he said.

When they finally gathered themselves up off the bench, they collected their clothes in silence. Sebastian kept his eyes on her the entire time, admiring her curves and their graceful movements once more before they became concealed by her uniform.

The only time he turned his back was to search for his belt. As he did so, Emilia memorized every freckle scattered across his back.

---

Perhaps the Slytherins slightly underestimated their Gryffindor rivals. Slytherin managed to nab a narrow victory over the lions, but not without a grueling fight.

The team gathered in a heap at the center of the quidditch pitch in celebration, the screams and cheers from their housemates ringing throughout the stadium. Sebastian, who was at the bottom of the pile, didn’t realize who was on top of him until he was met with the familiar scent of vanilla and bubblegum.

“Ow, Imelda!” Emilia squawked, well aware that she was facedown on top of Sebastian, who was on his back. “That was my head! Everyone get off, I’m getting crushed!”

“You’re getting crushed?” Sebastian exclaimed from beneath her. “What about me?”

“Sebastian, stop moving,” Emilia ordered. “Sebastian, that was my chest!”

“Oops, my mistake. Didn’t realize.”

“Liar.”

The bodies above them shifted until Sebastian and Emilia were the only ones left. The roar of activity around them faded to a background hum as Emilia remained sprawled on top of him, her face inches above his.

“We fucking won,” Sebastian murmured, dropping his voice so that only she could hear.

“Told you we would.”

“Told you Weasley would get distracted by you.”

He reached up and gently tugged her ponytail before she pressed a kiss to his freckled cheek.

[mieczyhale]

I love posts like this so much because truly, the idea that you cannot be Christian and believe in science in such bullshit. It's always been bullshit. As you said: the only people who are religious and use that as an excuse to be against science are on the fringes of their religions. They're not the majority, though they often are unfortunately the loudest.

I've never been able to explain to people how I mix my religion and science, because honestly I've never thought about it that deeply.

"Did God create everything?" Yeah "Is evolution real?" Yeah "How does that work?" Idk it just does

It would be easy to say "one is true therefore the other can't be" but it wouldn't be accurate. Not to me anyway.

This post pretty much explained it in a way I've never been able to. God created everything with the plan that it would all end up where it is today. She had evolution in mind. Her creations are not simple or basic - everything is magnificent and complex so of course she'd account for literally every possibility.

An example:: People who don't take medicine when they're sick or they refuse vaccines because they believe that if God wanted them better, wanted them well, he'd do it himself - as if God didn't give us all the things to make the medicine. She gave us the materials, the knowledge, the people who studied and made it all happen. God, through her people, gave us medicine and gave us vaccines. But it didn't just magically appear as its final product so these idiots think God wasn't behind it.

And that's how it is with everything. No, God wasn't poppin bottles of NyQuil in the garden of Eden but he knew one day we'd need - and have - NyQuil y'know?? And these people brush it all off, with every piece of creation, because... object permanence?? They don't understand how things work and that makes it all bad?? (as if they understand how God works but okay lmao)

I am thankful everyday that my mama was not one of those kinds of "Christians" and that even though I'm sure she had friends that were like that, she never let that kind of talk come around us growing up. Her and I can talk about the bible and science and how they crossover, discoveries throughout history, anything - everything - because Christianity and science are not at odd with each other

One thing I wish more people understood is that being religious and believing in science are not mutually exclusive.

Throughout all of recorded human history, including over the course the last century, some of the most important scientific advancements came from religious people and religiously funded institutions. Often it was Jews and Muslims leading the charge of scientific progress, but despite what you might think: it was also Christians and Catholics (both separately and alongside each other).

An example of these contributions (though there are many more) is that in Medieval Europe, erroneously referred to as "the dark ages", the Church heavily funded scientific research; in fact, they were one of the only bodies in the region that had the kind of money to put into something like science on a major scale.

The idea they are two things that cannot coexist comes from the "enlightenment", and then later Victorian era, which sought to frame people in that past as inherently stupid and inferior.

More recently, a trend towards fundamentalism and anti-science rhetoric, found on the fringes of many religions, is used by antitheists to reflect poorly on religious people as a whole. The many more religious people who are able to make science syncretic with their religious beliefs just aren't deemed interesting enough to make the news or entertaining enough for a non-religious audience to challenge in debates.

Atheism is not more compatible with science than theistic belief is.

[allthingsfangirl101]

Friendly Set-Up – Glen Powell

"Plleeeeeaaaassseeee?"

"Pass."

"Pretty please?"

"Nope."

"He's a great kisser!"

"How would you know?"

I smirked as Sarah's mouth opened and closed. "I've. . . heard from his. . . costars."

"All the more reason not to go out with him," I chuckled as I walked past her and into the kitchen.

"But Y/N," she whined as she followed me. "Just a coffee date. That's all I'm asking for. He was talking to me and the other girls about needing a woman in his life."

"Why would he. . . Actually, I don't care." I shook my head as I started making dinner.

"He told us that he missed taking care of a girl," she continued anyway. "He misses spoiling a girl, calling a girl during his lunch break, and picking up dinner on his way home to her."

"That's very sweet," I sighed, "but I'm not ready for another relationship."

"I know that Jason broke your heart," she said, running over to me. "But Glen is the exact opposite of him. He's just what you need! A pallet cleanser!"

"Sarah, stop!" I snapped a little too harshly at her. "I don't want to go on a date with the actor you put makeup on every morning, okay? I just want to be left alone so I can forget about Jason."

I didn't care that the ingredients were all over the counter. I turned and walked away, grabbed my keys, and got in my car. I didn't have to think about where I wanted to go.

I walked into the bar, sat down at my usual spot, and ordered my usual drink. I ran my fingers through my hair and cursed the tears that begged to fall.

Jason and I dated for almost two years. Over the years, he's gotten a lot less romantic. Finally, I made the mistake of making a small comment about marriage and he freaked out. He left and I got a text the next day saying that we should take a break.

As that bartender put my drink in front of me, I thought about how Sarah described Glen. He wanted a girl in his life. He wanted someone he could spoil. I smiled sadly when I realized it had been a long time since I felt like I was being spoiled by someone.

I shook my head, forcing myself to stop thinking about "what if". Jason broke up with me a week and a half ago. I needed more time to get over it.

"Son of a. . ." I grumbled when I saw my friends running into the bar. "Hi, girls."

"Hi, Y/N," Angela said a little too sweetly.

"I don't want to. . ."

"Would you please go out with him?" Sarah cut me off.

"Girls," I sighed.

"Come on, Y/N," she whined. "He's funny. He's attractive. He's successful. He's the total package."

"If he's the total package, why is he still single?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

"He's an actor," Angela shrugged.

"And he can get any girl he wants," I sighed, "so why would he want to go out with me?"

"Oh sweetie," Kelly sighed. "You're amazing. We all instantly thought of you when Glen told us about how he wanted a new girl in his life."

"Why wouldn't he like you?" Sarah asked.

"He'd be lucky to have you," Angela added.

"You're too good for him," Maggie chuckled.

"Look," I cut the girls off, "I just broke up with Jason. I need some time before jumping into a new relationship. Thank you for thinking I'm good enough for a famous actor, but I'm gonna pass."

* * * * *

After A LOT of badgering from the girls, I finally agreed to meet Glen. I told them not to get their hopes up. I was only going and having coffee with the guy to get them to stop begging me. After trying not to overthink my sundress, I headed to the coffee shop that was close to my work and the office building where his current movie was filming.

I gave myself a slight pep talk before getting out of my car. I walked into the coffee shop, my nerves jumping all over. As I looked around the shop, I kept wondering why I agreed to meet a complete stranger. Suddenly, my eyes landed on a guy who looked exactly like my friends described. He noticed me and sent me a shy smile. I took a shaky breath before walking over to him.

"Are you Glen?" I asked.

"Yeah," he smiled. "Yeah, I am."

"I'm Y/N, Sarah, Maggie, Angela, and Kelly's friend," I introduced myself. I couldn't help but laugh when I saw him relax. "You don't have to look so relieved."

"Sorry," he chuckled. "Our friends talked you up so much that I wasn't sure if you were real."

"I'm very real," I shrugged with a small giggle. "They probably lied about me though."

"I doubt that," he said, slightly looking me up and down. He looked back up at me and smiled. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

"I'd like that," I smiled.

He turned and gestured toward the counter. When I walked by him, he gently put his hand on my lower back. I tried to force the butterflies in my stomach to go away as we went and ordered our coffee.

"Oh my gosh," the seventeen-year-old barista giggled. "You're. . . You're Glen Powell!" 

Glen looked at me with a blush on his face and cleared his throat. The girl continued to fangirl, "I am such a huge fan. I love you."

"Thank you," he said politely. "That's very sweet of you."

An older man behind the counter cleared his throat, sending his employee a "manager glare".

"Sorry," she cleared her throat. "What can I get you?"

Glen looked at me and gestured for me to order first. I smiled before turning toward the still-excited teenager. "Can I get a caramel latte?"

"Of course," she smiled. Her face turned pink as she turned toward Glen. "And you?"

"Just an iced coffee for me," he nodded. I started to pull out my wallet but he quickly grabbed his wallet and handed his card to the barista. She giggled as she took his card.

She rang us up and handed Glen his card back. "We'll call your name when they're ready," she giggled. I saw the look on his face slightly shift as he looked around the coffee shop.

"Actually," I jumped in, "can you call my name? We're on a first date and don't want to draw too much attention."

"Of course," the girl said, putting her hand to her hard. "That's so sweet. What's your name?"

"Y/N."

"Great. They'll be right out."

I followed Glen to the corner table, out of sight of the windows and front counter. We sat down and there was an instant awkward tension between us.

"This is. . ." He said slowly.

"Awkward," I finished for him.

"Exactly," he chuckled. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I waved off. "Going on a date that your friends bugged you until you said yes to go on is awkward."

"They bugged you?" He asked, his eyes slightly sinking.

"It's nothing against you," I said quickly. "I just. . . I wasn't sure I wanted to get back into dating."

"Back?" Glen asked.

"Coffees for Y/N?" The barista called. Glen looked at me and hesitated before getting up and getting our coffees. I pulled my hands into my lap and nervously played with my fingers.

"Here you go."

"Thank you," I said, my voice soft.

"Y/N," Glen said after a short beat of silence, "what did you mean earlier when you said you weren't sure if you wanted to get back into dating?"

"It's. . . not something I should bring up on our first date," I said.

"If you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

I looked up to see Glen smiling gently at me. "I just broke up with my boyfriend," I admitted.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking at me sadly.

"Well, technically," I cleared my throat, "he broke up with me. After two years. All because I made a small hypothetical about marriage."

"He what?" Glen asked, slightly surprised. "What an idiot. For what it's worth, you dodged a bullet. He's missing out on an amazing girl."

I smiled weakly at his comment. "You met me like five minutes ago," I chuckled.

"Doesn't matter," he shrugged. "I still think you're amazing."

I looked down at my hands wrapped around my coffee mainly to hide my blush.

"You told me yours," Glen said, making me look up at him. "It's only fair that I tell you my breakup story."

"You don't have to," I stuttered.

"It's only fair," he said with a small smirk. "I was dating an old costar. It got to the point where I was putting in more effort than her. We spent the entire last two months apart. Whenever I called, she didn't answer. And she never called."

"Did you break up with her?" I asked before I could think about it.

"I did," he nodded. He added, "After pictures from her movie leaked of her making out with her costar on the beach."

"I'm sorry," I said. "That's terrible. You didn't deserve her."

"You met me like five minutes ago," he said, instantly going back to his earlier self.

"Doesn't matter," I shrugged with a smile on my face.

For the next two hours, Glen and I sat and talked. We talked about our jobs, our family, our crazy friends. The more we talked, the more I started to fall for this guy. Sarah was right. He was extremely sweet. He maintained eye contact the entire conversation and seemed like he was hanging on my every word.

I was explaining my latest project at work when his phone started ringing. By the sigh that left his lips, I could tell that he had a theory for who was calling him and interrupting our date.

"I'm sorry," Glenn said, his smile sinking when he looked up from his phone. "It's my manager."

"Take it," I said. "I don't mind."

"But Y/N," he stuttered.

"It's okay," I said with a small laugh. "Answer your phone, Glen."

"I'm sorry," he whispered before answering his phone. "Hey, Mike."

I busied myself as he listened to his manager.

"What?" He asked, slightly turning away from me. I looked at my hands wrapped around my coffee. "Wait, right now? Mike, I'm kind of. . . I know that but. . . Fine. I'm on my way."

"You have to go?" I asked, unable to stop my voice from dropping.

"I'm really sorry, Y/N," he said, instantly turning back to me. "I completely forgot I have an interview in two hours."

"I'm going to have to get used to sharing you with the rest of the world, aren't I?" I fake pouted, making him laugh.

"Oh, please," he smirked. "My girl never has to share me."

As we stood up, Glen grabbed my hand and pulled me into his chest. "I really enjoyed getting to know you, Y/N."

"I really enjoyed getting to know you, Glen," I smiled. My breath got caught in my throat when Glen's eyes dropped to my lips. Before I could wonder whether or not he was going to go for it, he went for it.

Glen leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I gently grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer. When we broke the kiss, we both had matching smiles.

"Does this mean you'd accept the offer to a second date if I asked?" His voice soft.

"If you asked."

* * * * *

After our date, each of the girls called and begged me to go to brunch so I could tell them all about it. I fixed my dress as I got out of my car and headed into the restaurant. The second I walked to our table, my friends all jumped up and started bombarding me with questions.

"How was it?"

"Did he buy your coffee?"

"Did he pull out your chair?"

"Did he hold your hand?"

"Did you guys talk for hours?"

"Did he ask you out again?"

"Did he kiss you?"

"Why aren't you answering our questions?"

"Because neither one of you has stopped to breathe," I chuckled.

"Okay," Sarah said in her bossy tone. "Enough questions. Just tell us how it went."

"It was fine," I shrugged.

"Fine?!" They all screamed in sync.

"Just fine?"

"Come on."

"You gotta give us more than that."

"Sorry," I said, standing up, catching all of them off-guard.

"Where are you going?" Sarah pouted.

"Hey, gorgeous."

The girls gasped as Glen walked up, wrapped his arm around my waist, and kissed my cheek. "You ready for lunch?"

"Absolutely," I smiled at him. I looked back at my friends and saw all of them smiling like crazy people.

"You girls don't mind me stealing Y/N away from you, do you?" Glen asked the girls.

"Of course not!" Sarah said loudly. "Take her for the rest of the day."

"Subtle," I scoffed as I rolled my eyes. Glen just laughed as he led us out of the restaurant. When we got to his car, he stopped and pulled me into his chest.

"You know," he whispered, "when I first told the girls I wanted a new girl in my life, I never thought I'd actually meet a girl I could see spending the rest of my life with."

"The rest of your. . ."

"I know this is crazy fast," he said quickly, "especially since we've only been on one date. . ."

"We texted until like 2 am," I said quickly trying to reassure him.

"True," he smiled. "As I was saying, I really like you, Y/N. And I think that we have something here."

"I think so, too," I whispered. With a smile on his face, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck as our lips moved in sync.

We didn't care that our friends were watching us from the restaurant window with proud smirks on their faces. Glen broke the kiss but didn't let me go.

"Y/N," he whispered. "I know you're still getting over Jason. But I'd like to help you with that."

"I don't want to use you."

"You wouldn't be using me," he said, shaking his head. "I'd just be helping you through the breakup."

I bit my lip, debating if I really wanted to go for it. "Fine," I gave in. I quickly added, "But only if you allow me to help you through your breakup."

"It's a deal."

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

mm... m.. more dave... dilf dave... mean dom dilf dave...... please..... dilf dave.... (I've gone insane)

A/n: There was a point Dave and his wife, Pamela, got into a fight and she walked out on him, this fic happened after that if they hadn't gotten back together

Warnings: Smut, size difference, oral (f receiving), daddy kink, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

You met Dave at a parental support group, everyone acted weird around him which just made things worse for him and his kids. You didn't get it and started talking to him, quickly becoming his person.

It didn't take long for you to realize just how much you liked him, you figured he wouldn't feel the same so you ignored it and carried on from day to day.

As much as Dave came to you you went to him. You had had a really bad day at work and could not be more thankful that you didn't have your kid for the day. You called Dave and asked to come over, to which he happily agreed.

"And it's, like..." You trailed, poking at the food Dave had made for you. "Three people! Three people, I got yelled at by three people in less than an hour first thing in the morning for something I didn't even fucking do!" You huffed and let your head fall onto your arm.

Dave hid a smile behind his hand but he couldn't hide the small chuckle that escaped him. "I'm sorry, it's not funny."

"No, it's not." You barked.

Dave lightly swatted at your thigh. "Calm down, I'm on your side."

"Calm down?" You sat up again. "Calm down. You-you're telling me to calm down?" You could feel all the emotions you'd been pushing down bubbling up.

Dave's expression hardened. "Watch the bass in your voice when you're talking to me, darling." You rolled your eyes at him and went back to poking your food. Dave took your face in his hands, squishing your cheeks and making you look at him. "Hey, do I need to spank some manners back into you?" He asked, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

You chewed your cheek as you thought about it, it wouldn't be the worst end to your day.

Dave let go of your head and went back to his own food. "I wouldn't do that, you know." He murmured, taking a bite. "If I was gonna do anything..." He trailed, gaze flickering back to see you waiting patiently for his next words. He looked back to his plate. "I'd treat you like a queen... you need some love after your day." He finally said, poking at his own food again.

You didn't take your eyes off of him. Of all things, you hadn't expected that. He was the lead singer and lead guitarist of a founding thrash metal band, he'd toured the world before he'd even met you, you expected... anything but that.

"A queen seems a little excessive." You said with a soft chuckle as your fork scraped the plate through your food.

Dave's attention snapped back to you. "Are you actually going to eat that?" You raised a brow at him, the looked back to the plate. "If you're just going to sit there and complain I'll give you something else to think about."

It all happened so fast after that; his hands on your body, yours and his clothes being dropped in the hallway as he led you to his room, lips never leaving yours for a moment. By the time you were on his bed, in his lap with your hands in his hair, you were both naked.

"That's it." Dave mused, cupping your ass in his palms. Your hands were planted on his shoulders, steadying yourself as you sank down on his length. "Keep your eyes on me, darling, you're doing so good." He praised, watching where your bodies connected, the way you stretched around him.

Your face morphed with pleasure, lips parting with soft moans and heavy breaths. You already felt so full of him, you looked down to see another inch or two to go so you just let go of your weight, gasping when his tip hit deep inside you, creating a bulge in your stomach.

"Oh, look at that." He gleamed, lightly tracing the bump with his finger. "Taking me so well, bet you feel stuffed, huh?" He asked, leaning closer to kiss down your neck, nipping gently at the sensitive skin there.

"Feels-feels s'good, Davie." You managed to say. Your hands moved from his shoulders, arms wrapping around his neck and holding yourself close to him.

Dave gave a small hum. "Davie." He repeated, hot breath fanning over your neck. "I'll make your day, but I get to ask for something, don't I?" He pulled away to look at you, holding your face in his big hand. "Daddy. Say it. Call me daddy."

You felt your face heat up at the request. You couldn't turn him down, not when he was effortlessly hitting every spot in you. "Can-can you move, daddy..." You asked, a nervousness in your voice.

His smirk widened and he nodded. "Of course, darling, anything for you." He flipped you over onto your back, muscular arms encasing you.

Dave held himself up on his elbows, caging you in. Your legs wrapped around his waist, arms still around his neck. His lips connected with yours again as he pulled back, setting a slow rhythm with his thrusts.

Your moans filled the room, Dave's kisses trailing down your neck. Looking down you saw Dave's cock, slick with you as he got sucked back in again and again. You saw how deep he went from the bulge, long and thick.

He brought his hand down to rub your clit, not changing his pace. "That's good, isn't it?" He asked.

You nodded, body twitching. "Yes! Yes, feels so good, daddy." You moaned, eyes fluttering. "I-I'm so close, gonna cum-mh!" Your eyes screwed shut, hips bucking but Dave was quick to force you back down with a harsh snap of his own hips, his face buried in your neck.

"Ah-ah, just-just stay still, darling." He was getting close too, pulsing in your welcoming warmth. "Let me do the work, you've had a rough day, haven't you?" He asked, lifting himself up to look at you, wanting to watch just how good he was making you feel.

You nodded. "I-it- I had-" Your words were strangled by moans.

"Shh, just let it feel good." His calloused fingers rubbed your clit in small circles. He was perfect, he didn't change a thing, he found what you liked, he searched for your pleasure and it washed over you like a thousand volts of electricity.

Dave wasn't far behind you, not with the way you were clenching around him so deliciously, his low groans flooding your mind.

He pulled out of you, running his hand down your side as he sat back to look at you. His breathing was heavy and his smile was proud. "Look at you." He mused. "So pretty, all tired and relaxed... you're always so stressed..." He moved further down the bed, spreading your thighs apart.

He stared at you in awe, the way his cum got pushed out of your with every flutter of your puffy and used hole. You wanted to watch him but you were tired, your body was drained, mind foggy from the way he made you cum.

Dave licked through your folds, happily swallowing your mixed juices. He hummed in satisfaction. "You taste amazing, love." He continued to lap up your cum, looking up at you and watching your reactions to find what you liked.

His tongue swirled around your clit, flicking it to a good beat. He pushed his muscle inside of you, nose bumping your sensitive nub. He could do this for hours, watching you come undone all over again.

Every time he saw you you were tense over something, bills, kids, work, whatever it was there was always something. If he'd known all it took to help you was a little affection he would've done this months ago, now he'd have to make up for lost time.